


Disassemble and Restart

by MeganWrites



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 77,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26473288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganWrites/pseuds/MeganWrites
Summary: Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.Mickey learns this the hard way.[reposting of an old work]
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 89
Kudos: 189





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike the rest of the reposts (up to this point) this is the unedited, identical version from 2014/2015. 
> 
> I thought for a long time about whether I wanted to repost this fic or not, because I think ideally I would revise it quite a bit & improve the writing, but the reality is that I just don't have the time for that - nor the interest really. I'm proud of this fic because it is the first long, multi-chapter I ever finished, but it is definitely not my best work. 
> 
> That being said, people have asked for it, and I know that some of you really love it. So here it is! All of it in one go - enjooooy.
> 
> If you feel so inclined to comment along with each chapter, I would definitely love that.

_Withdrawn. Aggressive. Judgmental._

Mickey lifted the bottle of Jack Daniels to his lips taking a long drink. He hissed quietly at the foul taste and rested his head back against the couch once again.

_Withdrawn. Aggressive. Judgmental._

He slowly cracked each knuckle on his hand, trying to focus his mind on the 'pop'-ing noise that went along with each finger. The distraction didn't last longer than a few seconds before Mickey's mind was once again brought back to the words swirling in his mind.

_Emotionally unavailable._

That's what Mickey was, apparently. He didn't even really understand it, honestly. He knew that in the past he had been a little challenging but he thought that things had been going okay. He had put in a real effort to improve his attitude or whatever it was that made him so unappealing. He had sucked it up and started to spend full nights, cuddled in the morning, kissed goodbye, sat at the table for meals and even talked about his fucking day at work.

Hell, they even lived together now. So, how was Mickey emotionally unavailable?

Oh right.

_Withdrawn. Aggressive. Judgmental._

Because apparently none of his efforts ever really mattered, because even after three years together his personality was still coming off the same way it did in the first month.

What a fucking asshole.

Except he wasn't. Of course, even after the destructive screaming match - filled with throwing punches and hateful words, and finishing with a slammed door and promises that things between them were over - Mickey couldn't think badly of him.

Things never did really turn out well for Mickey; even during a break up when his main personality points - as they were pointed out to him earlier - should shine he still managed to fuck it up by giving a shit about the bastard who left him. Mickey growled and lifted the bottle of Jack Daniels again, chugging back as much of the drink as he could before settling back into the couch and glaring at the wall in front of him. This apartment felt like hell.

His thoughts were interrupted from spiraling further downwards by his cellphone ringing the distinctive tone that was reserved for his sister. Mickey contemplated leaving it, forcing Mandy to leave a voicemail and keeping to himself for the remainder of the night.

Although Mandy, unlike the civilized people of the world, would probably just keep calling.

"What?" He spoke grumpily as he finally reached forward, picking up his phone and answering the call.

" _You're pissed already?_ "

"Fuck you."

Mandy let out a long dramatic sigh and Mickey swallowed, he knew what was coming next.

" _He's an asshole._ "

"He tell you?"

He could almost hear her shrugging, " _he stopped by the bar._ "

Mickey nodded and started picking at a loose thread on his jeans, trying to focus on anything else and failing miserably. "He look okay? Still there?"

Mandy laughed loudly, her twisted Milkovich-type sense of humor showing. " _Did he look okay?_ _Shithead. He looked messed up, really messed up Mick._ "

Mickey nodded and Mandy continued to speak. " _He left though, said he had to work in the morning and needed to find a place to crash._ " Silence fell between them once again as Mickey absorbed the new information; he took another quick drink and grunted.

" _Come by the bar,_ " Mandy pleaded, " _you can talk to me, and I get off in an hour. Then we can get drunk together so you don't seem so pathetic doing it by yourself._ "

"Fuck off, maybe." Mickey muttered and sat up, he already knew that he would end up walking over to the bar from the second he had answered the call from Mandy.

Of course, Mandy was too smart not to know that as well.

" _Okay, see you in ten. And do not finish that fucking two-six of Jack; I don't want to be dragging your ass home tonight._ " Mickey mumbled words of agreement as Mandy hung up.

Mickey groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to force some time of soberness into his body before making the trek to the bar. Finally he stood, only wobbling a little bit, and slipped on his thick winter jacket before heading out of his apartment and out into downtown Chicago.

He stumbled down the streets, ignoring the crowds of partying College students and tourists walking past him and making too much noise. It was the one thing Mickey really hated about downtown - noisy tourists and students. They ruined the whole atmosphere for him.

Mickey had always really liked downtown. When he was growing up he didn't get many chances to go to the city center - he didn't even have a reason to leave the south side - but anytime he did he had always found it to be more comfortable than the south side ever had. He liked that there was always something happening, he could walk to pretty much anything he would ever need, it looked a hell of a lot nicer than the trashed houses he used to live around, and he was never expected to talk to someone just because they happened to be around him.

(Maybe he was a little unsociable. Was that emotionally unavailable?

Probably.)

So Mickey had packed up his bags and moved into a shitty apartment near the Loop that cost way more than it could possibly be worth. He got an honest job as a full time welder and a part time bouncer at a couple clubs. Mandy followed him a year later, getting her job at the bar and moving in to a building only a block away with three screechy annoying girls that Mickey couldn't stand.

Mickey rounded the corner and stepped into Monty's Pub and Bar, immediately enjoying the warmth and the old rustic atmosphere. He looked over to the bar where Mandy stood, predictably wearing a too tight and low hanging top, serving a leering man and giving him a fake smile. Mickey smirked and scratched his nose absently as he walked to the opposite side of the bar, taking a seat and nodding at Mandy when she looked over at him.

She walked over to him and put a pint of beer on a coaster in front of him. "You look like shit," she stated and leaned forward on the bar.

"Wow, nice to fucking see you too." Mickey spat with no real venom and picked up the glass, downing the entire beer in his first drink.

Mandy rolled her eyes and took his glass, filling it up once again and resuming her position in front of Mickey. She pursed her lips and stayed silent as Mickey drank his second beer a little slower.

"He'll probably come back in a couple days," Mandy's voice was gentle. Mickey hated it when she was soft with him; it felt too unnatural to actually be comforting.

"You talked to him?" Mickey questioned gruffly, she nodded. "Then you know that's not true."

Mandy shrugged, "just trying to give you some fucking hope."

"Don't."

"Alright, fuck, whatever." Mandy answered lifting her hands up and sighing loudly. "At least you got the apartment, means you don't have to move all your shit."

"Yeah, and now I have to pay for the shit hole all by myself again." Mickey answered as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Gonna be broke all the fucking time."

"You could get a roommate?" Mandy offered hesitantly, as she played with the cloth in her hands.

Mickey rolled his eyes, taking a long drag from the cigarette, "it’s one bedroom Mands, and I ain't sharing."

Silence falls between them, Mickey smoking and drinking to help control his hostility, while Mandy fidgeted and looked up at the clock. She was probably counting down the minutes until she got off work.

"You miss him?" Mandy asked quietly, looking down at her hands.

Mickey sighed loudly and took another long drag, "yeah."

Mandy looked up and stepped forward, putting her small hand over one of Mickey's large worn ones. "I'm sorry Mick," she was speaking gently again, Mickey felt the discomfort swirling in his stomach and shifted in his seat until Mandy moved away. Mandy laughed quietly and leaned back against the bar, "you're so fucked up."

Mickey raised his eyebrows at her and grinned, "yeah, you too bitch."

Mandy laughed louder and nodded with her own grin in place. The doors from the kitchens swung open and Mandy glanced back to the clock. She moved away from Mickey and towards the younger man who had just walked out.

"Dan's here tonight, just a warning."

The man groaned and pouted at Mandy, "are you sure you don't feel like working a double?"

Mandy shook her head smugly at her co-worker, "next time don't get drunk and fuck a regular."

Mickey raised his eyebrows at that and Mandy look over at him laughing, "oh, hey Mickey, this is the new bartender."

"I've been here four months," the man commented with a chuckle and looked over at Mickey. Mickey looked him up and down; he was tall - not so tall that he towered over everyone but at least a few inches taller than Mickey was.

Broad shoulders, defined arms, and a tight shirt showing off the rest of his muscles. Red hair, green eyes, and apparently gay.

In Mickey's hazy drunken mind all he could think was that this guy would be the perfect rebound.

Mickey extended his arm, "Mickey, her brother."

The man smiled, and took his hand shaking it firmly, "Ian."


	2. two.

"Mandy," Mickey called across the bar, " _Mandy!_ "

Mandy rolled her eyes, finished pouring a drink for one of the bars patrons and walked over to where Mickey was slumped over the bar.

"One more," Mickey slurred, lifting up his empty beer mug, "and another shot of Jack."

"If you keep drinking like this you're going to get arrested on your way home," Mandy commented but continued to pour his drinks despite her words.

Mickey shrugged, "not like that's anything new."

"Juvie isn't jail, dumbass."

"Like you would fucking know."

Mandy laughed and shook her head, leaning on the bar and glancing at the clock, "so, nothing from Chris yet?"

Mickey rubbed his eye and shook his head, "not a fucking word."

"Not even a text?"

Mickey shook his head once again. Three days had passed and he had complete radio silence from Chris. Not a call, not a text. It didn't really surprise him that Chris was being distant. He had known from the moment Chris started yelling how the argument would end, and when Chris walked out the door Mickey knew that he wasn't coming back. He knew that he drove Chris away because he had always known that eventually he would.

No, Mickey wasn't surprised, but for some reason that didn't make any part of it better.

"Shit Mick, maybe by the end of the week?" Mandy pressed, somehow over the years away from the south side she had developed a type of optimism that Mickey really could not get behind.

Mickey scoffed, taking another drink and ignoring Mandy, "this beer tastes like piss."

"Then don't drink it," Mandy reached forward, smacking the back of Mickey's head lightly and dodging out of the way of his retaliation. She looked back at the clock, and put the towel in her hand aside.

"You off soon?" Mickey asked, lighting up a cigarette and smoking it in between his drinks.

"Soon as Ian gets here."

Mickey nodded, "wanna get fucked up with me?"

Mandy shook her head and leaned back. "I'm going to Tessa's birthday party."

"She the one who hates me?"

Mandy laughed, "yeah, thinks you’re a douchebag."

Mickey growled and took a long drag, "fucking bitch." Mickey looked up as he heard the door from the kitchen swinging open. Ian walked through a smiled widely at Mickey before walking over to give Mandy a one-armed hug.

"Hey you," Ian poked Mandy's side and she giggled, "sorry I'm late."

Mandy shrugged and stood up straighter, "it's okay. It's a slow night and Mickey was keeping me company." She turned her gaze back to Mickey, "he's wasted again so it's been interesting."

"Rough day?" Ian asked.

Mickey snorted loudly, "you could say that."

"Well, if you want to hang out and keep drinking I could use some company too." Ian stated his smile returning as he crossed his arms and leaned back.

"Whatever." Mickey mumbled, chugging the remainder of his beer and holding out the empty beer mug to Ian.

Ian laughed and took the mug, filling it up as Mandy walked to the kitchen doors. She paused and looked back, "hey Ian, could you make sure that Mickey takes a cab tonight? He's too fucked to make it home without getting in a fight."

Mickey glared and flipped Mandy off as Ian laughed once again, nodding at Mandy's request.

Mickey watched Ian as he gracefully moved around behind the bar. Ian left the spot by Mickey as soon as Mandy had; he talked to some of the patrons, poured some drinks, wiped the counters and began drying off glasses and mugs from the dishwasher. Even doing the most mundane things, he was stupidly hot. Mickey bit down on his lip as he watched the red head laugh at some stupid joke a young guy at the opposite end of the bar was telling.

Ian waved as the young man left; he turned back to Mickey as he downed another shot of Jack. Mickey kept his eyes glued to Ian as he sauntered over to Mickey and leaned against the shelves, facing Mickey and drying the glass in his hand.

"So," Ian began, "bad break-up?"

Mickey exhaled loudly, "are there good ones?"

Ian smiled and nodded, "sometimes it just takes time to figure it out."

Mickey snorted, rolling his eyes and taking a long drink, "wise guy, huh?"

"Just speaking from experience," Ian answered with a wide grin.

"The creep that Mandy warned you about the other night?" Mickey's words were beginning to slur and meld.

Ian's eyes widened at the suggestion, he laughed and shook his head. "He was just a one-time drunken mistake that doesn't seem to go away."

"Worth it at least?"

"Pretty pathetic actually," Ian answered with a frown. He placed the glass down beside him and leaned forward on the bar nearby Mickey. "So, tell me about this guy."

"Fuck," Mickey muttered finishing off his beer, "asshole dumped me because he needs something more. But I'm not more. This is just it, there isn't anything else and he doesn't fucking get it."

Ian watched Mickey with a grim expression and put his hand out to rest on Mickey's shoulder. Mickey looked at it and felt the warmth from his touch spreading. Ian was quiet for a long moment, his eyes scanning over Mickey's face before he let out a sigh.

"Sounds like an asshole."

Mickey smiled at Ian's words, earning a bright smile from the red head in return.

"Another beer?" Ian asked, gesturing to the nearly empty mug.

Mickey nodded and pushed the mug to Ian's waiting hand. "And keep 'em coming."

The night seemed to fly by after that. Mickey drank steadily while he and Ian joked and talked. He had to admit that he could see why Mandy seemed to like this guy. She had mentioned the new bartender to Mickey a few times. She kept telling him how cute he was and how devastating it was that someone so pretty liked cock. Mickey had just laughed at her, but now watching Ian and talking to him he could understand why knowing Ian was interested in the opposite gender would be upsetting.

Not that Mickey was faced with that issue.

Mickey stayed until closing, keeping to his seat and drinking until Ian had ushered the last person out of the bar and locked the doors.

Ian walked back over to the bar to where Mickey was sitting, wobbling on the bar stool in his drunken haze. Mickey leaned back as Ian walked past him, moving into a better position to admire Ian's ass but he lost balance and fumbled forward to grab onto the bar before he fell.

Ian laughed loudly at the action, "staring at my ass Mickey?"

"I like red heads." Mickey swiped his tongue over his lower lip, too drunk to feel shame at this point.

Ian grinned as he put the remaining few glasses in the dishwasher. "You weren't staring at my hair," Ian quipped.

Mickey shrugged, "like a nice ass too."

Ian bit his lip, seeming to hold himself back from saying something. He started the dishwasher and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar, with a couple of shot glasses. He walked over to one of the tables with the chairs still set on the ground, he motioned for Mickey to join him before filling both shot glasses and swiftly emptying them both into his mouth.

Mickey snorted and stumbled to the seat across from Ian, "you sharing?"

Ian nodded, taking another shot in the process. "Need to catch up."

Mickey laughed and motioned for Ian to continue. Ian took a fourth shot, before filling up both shot glasses once again and pushing one over to Mickey.

"So," Ian started, his fingers tapping on the table and his smile beginning to fade, "what did Chris look like? Was he a red head too?"

Mickey furrowed his brow, thinking of his ex-boyfriend and trying to tell if he heard jealousy in Ian's tone. Mickey took the shot in front of him, grimacing at the taste as he swallowed and shook his head. "Dark brown, bit lighter than me." He leaned back and rubbed at his temple, "tall, I guess, shorter than you though."

Mickey blinked as he looked at Ian, he could swear the smirk on his face was smug. "I dunno," Mickey finally settled on as an answer, "he looked fucking good."

"Makes sense," Ian answered, finally taking his shot and pouring the next round.

"What about your guy?" Mickey questioned, waving his hand ungracefully at Ian, "the one with the good break-up."

Ian laughed and shrugged, "had a nice ass."

"Always important." Mickey slurred and grinned lifting up his shot to clink the glass against Ian's before both men downed their shots.

Ian tapped at the table again. "He kind of treated me like shit though."

Mickey scoffed, " _emotionally unavailable._ " He mocked Chris' words against him, raising his hands and using air quotations as he spoke.

Ian chuckled, "well, he was married so I guess you could say that."

“That so?” Mickey smirked and clicked his tongue, eying Ian suggestively, "so you're kind of a bad boy, aye Firecrotch."

Ian cocked an eyebrow and the vulgar nickname, "you're one to talk."

Mickey grinned, "Mm, I'm definitely bad."

Ian's eyes were glued to Mickey, his pupils blown wide with desire and fingers stilling on the table. They stayed like that in silence for a long moment, before Ian swallowed and looked away. "I should get this cleaned up," Ian muttered standing and walking back to the bar.

Mickey picked up the bottle of whiskey and chugged down as much as he could in one drink before standing and shuffling to the bar where he placed the bottle down. "Aight, I'm going home." He slurred and stumbled as he walked.

Maybe he was drunker than he thought.

Ian laughed as Mickey ended up slumped against one of the walls. He shook his head and grabbed his jacket before walking over to Mickey. "I'll help you home."

Mickey looked Ian up and down. He hated getting help from anyone, especially someone he hardly knew but the idea of getting Ian to his place was more appealing than anything had been in three days. Mickey shrugged, allowing Ian to put his arm over Mickey's shoulders and steer him to the door.

It was cold outside and Mickey hated it. He buried himself a little closer to Ian, hiding from the harsh weather. Ian smiled down at him and tightened his grip around Mickey's shoulders, not saying a word as he followed Mickey's messy directions. They managed to get lost a few times - although Mickey generally realized his mistake within a block or so - turning the fifteen minutes walk into a near half hour walk.  
  
Mickey unlocked the main door to the building, Ian following closely behind him as they walked up to the fourth floor. He fumbled with the keys trying to find the one to his apartment before giving up and resting against the wall. "You do it," Mickey grumbled extending his arm and offering the key chain to Ian.

Ian laughed and took the keys, unlocking the door and grabbing the sleeve of Mickey's jacket to pull him inside the little apartment.

Mickey stumbled in and rested back against the now closed door, watching as Ian looked around the cluttered mess that was his apartment. He hadn't bothered cleaning since Chris left and had been leaving a bigger and bigger mess as each night went by.

Ian looked back to Mickey, his mouth pressed into a firm line, "are you okay Mickey?"

Mickey nodded and grabbed Ian's jacket, pulling him forward until he was pressed up against Mickey. Mickey pressed his nose against the column of Ian's throat, nibbling at the skin there. "I want you to fuck me," Mickey muttered, his voice rough from the alcohol.

Ian swallowed, his hands gripping Mickey's biceps and pulled back. "I can't." Ian answered solemnly and closed his eyes whispering; "fuck, not like this."

Mickey growled and pushed at Ian, "fuck yo-" He paused and leaned back against the door again, blinking rapidly.

"Are you okay?" Ian echoed his earlier words, stepping a little closer.

Mickey shook his head, "nope."

And he promptly puked on Ian's legs and feet.


	3. three.

Mickey woke up in the morning, curled up on the floor next to the toilet. There was a pillow from the couch under his head, and the holey blanket he would usually huddle under while playing video games was draped over him. He glanced around and blinked wearily, spotting a full glass of water and a plate with bread and two aspirin's on it beside him.  
  
Mickey didn't remember much from the night after he first puked. He remembered Ian cursing and pulling off his pants and shoes, Ian helping Mickey to the bathroom, and Ian rubbing his back as he complained about not wanting to drink the water that Ian continued to bringing him.

He heard a small sigh and looked to the tub where Ian was sprawled with his legs hanging over the edge awkwardly. He was in nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs, had no blankets or a pillow, and his head was at an angle that Mickey couldn't imagine was any type of comfortable. Mickey frowned at him, unsure how to feel about the situation. He sat and cursed softly. His head was pounding and the sun shining through the small window was not helping. He grunted and quickly popped the aspirin in his mouth, chugging every drop of water in the glass immediately after.

Mickey wandered into the kitchen, walking to the coffee maker and emptying out the old grounds. He did remember a lot of the night before he puked, though most of the memories were cloudy at best. Unfortunately he clearly remembered telling Ian to fuck him and the rejection that followed. He groaned as he finished preparing the coffee maker and pressing the button to start it.

A chuckle and the sound of cracking bones startled Mickey from his thoughts as he looked to the bathroom door and saw Ian stretching and walking towards him.

"Morning," Ian greeted him, walking to the counter opposite of Mickey and hoisting himself up to sit on it.

Mickey scowled, "make yourself at home why don't you."

Ian ignored Mickey's grumbles and stretched out again, "making me breakfast?"

"Fuck off." Mickey answered, flipping the red head off. "Can't you get your own damn breakfast?"

"Well, don't people normally make meals for boys they get out of their pants?" Ian’s cocky smile seemed to be a permanent fixture.

"Only if they get something out of it," Mickey responded, clicking his tongue and checking on the coffee makers progress.

Ian's grin grew impossibly wider and he shrugged. "That's not what you said last night." Mickey narrowed his eyes, standing a little straighter as Ian continued to speak. "You kept talking about how sexy my god-like muscular legs are, and how much you appreciated that I didn't wear a pair of saggy boxers."  
  
Mickey scanned Ian quickly, trying to keep his eyes from drifting back to the significant bulge at his crotch. Honestly, Mickey couldn't deny what Ian said. Ian's legs could have been sculpted, and he really did appreciate those boxer briefs - not that he would ever admit it. He snorted and shook his head, "you're full of shit."

"Yeah," Ian spoke after a short silence and chuckled. "But you did tell me that I had the perfect leg hair to leg ratio."

Mickey raised his eyebrows and looked back down to Ian's legs; he crossed his arms and leaned back, "not wrong."

"Thanks, I grow it myself."  
  
"You're a cocky little shit."  
  
Ian just nodded with a shit-eating grin in place. Mickey rolled his eyes and looked down at the coffee maker once again. Seeing that it had finished he opened the cupboard and grabbed his favorite mug, then grabbed a second mug for Ian.

He poured coffee in the two mugs, gnawing at his lip and thinking about how strange it was to be doing this.

Before Chris he had never had someone stay overnight with him. He had had one boyfriend before Chris but it was really more like a series of one night stands with one person than anything else. Mickey had only put a label on it because his fuck buddy was starting to complain. It had taken a few years for Chris to finally convince Mickey to let him stay overnight, and even then it wasn't very often until he had moved six months before.

But the weird part wasn't that Ian stayed over, despite how weird that actually was, it was that Mickey didn't mind that Ian had stayed the night. In fact, instead of being annoyed and ushering him out the door, Mickey was pouring him coffee and engaging in a conversation.

Some of Chris nagging might have stuck after all.

He started filling his mug with sugar and turned to look at Ian, "you take cream and sugar?"  
  
Ian shook his head and Mickey passed the filled mug to him. Ian muttered thank you and sipped at the hot beverage. A comfortable silence fell between them as they drank; Mickey placed his cup down and jumped up to sit on the counter he had been leaning on.

"So this is the place?" Ian asked looking around the small apartment; Mickey gets a sense of déjà vu seeing Ian's eyes scanning the place. "Yours and the ex's."

"Chris," Mickey muttered taking a sip from his coffee. "The ex's name."

Ian nodded and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I remember. You talked about him a lot last night too."

Mickey cringed and rubbed his temple with the heel of his palm. "Fuck, sorry man. You probably didn't need to hear about all my shit."

Ian raised a hand a shook his head as he swallowed some coffee. "It was fine, I swear, I didn't mind at all. It's actually kind of nice having a friend to talk to."

"So we're friends now?"

Ian blinked. His face was completely blank as he spoke, "you puked on me and I took care of your holy drunken-ness all night, to the point that I slept in a tub. That's the definition of friendship."

Mickey couldn't resist smiling at Ian's words and nodded. "Alright, yeah." He finished up his coffee and slipped off the counter. "Where are your jeans anyways?"

Ian pointed to the door of the bathroom where his jeans were hanging, looking slightly damp and crinkled. "I kind of washed them off in your tub but they definitely aren't clean."

Mickey looked at the pathetic excuse for jeans and shook his head, "you can borrow some sweats. Probably the only pants I own that will fit your tall ass."

Ian grinned, "Guess I am getting in your pants after all."

"Ha ha," Mickey responded dryly as he wandered to his bedroom and began shuffling through drawers. "You're hi-larious, got any jokes that a twelve year old didn't come up with."

"Nah, juvenile humor is kind of my thing." Ian yelled out from the kitchen.

Mickey found his longest pair of sweatpants and trudge back out of his room to the kitchen, balling the piece of clothing up and tossing it at Ian's face. Ian caught it easily and laughed, hoping off the counter and bending over to slide the pants on.  
  
Mickey tilted his head from behind Ian, taking the opportunity to admire Ian's firm, muscled legs and ass in his sober state. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, imaging all the wonderful things he could do to a body like that and trying his best to ignore the nagging guilt in the back of his mind still trying to convince him that this was cheating.  
  
Like a relationship gag reflex. Fucking useless.

Ian stretched again and grinned as he saw Mickey still watching him. Mickey scowled and looked away from the smug red head, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the counter and sticking one between his lips.

"Well," Ian began as Mickey shuffled around distracting himself by trying to find a lighter. "I should probably get going."

Mickey nodded, briefly glancing back at Ian.

"So, see you soon?" Ian prodded, shoving his hands in the sweatpants pockets.

Mickey looked back at Ian, abandoning his search for a lighter. Ian was rocking back and forth on his heels, biting his lower lip and his eyes were a little too wide. The cocky little shit was nervous.

Mickey smiled a little too smugly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe."

Ian huffed out a short laugh, shifting his eyes to the ground. "Think you could be a little vaguer with your answer?"

"Vague answers are kind of my thing."

Ian looked back at Mickey with a little smile spreading on his lips. "Nice hanging out with you then." He walked half backwards to the door, keeping his eyes on Mickey as he grabbed a wallet and set of keys Mickey didn't recognize from the table. "Maybe see you around."

Ian swiftly opened the door and left with the stupid little smile still on his face.

* * *

Mickey woke up on his couch to the sound of Mandy's ringtone blasting from his phone. He scowled muttering a string of curse words and pawed around on the table, not wanting to open his eyes yet, until finally he felt the cool metal of his phone on his fingertips.  
  
"The fuck Mandy?!" He answered, his phone pressed to his ear.

_"How was your night? Still hung-over?"_

"Fuck you."

Mandy's high pitched laugh rang through the receiver, _"so that's a yes. Don't drink so much douchebag."_

"Fuck. Off." Mickey hissed rubbing his free hand over his face.

_"Did you get home okay?"_

She was concerned, Mickey hated it. "Yeah, no worries, you're work boyfriend walked me home."

_"Boyfriend?"_ Mandy laughed again, " _do you usually ask my boyfriends to fuck you? Because if so, I've got some serious question..."_

Mickey groaned loudly cutting off Mandy's speech and sending her into peals of laughter. "I'm gonna fucking kill him," Mickey grumbled.

_"So you like to bottom, huh?"_

"He's a fucking dead man."

_"Uh huh. Sure he is."_ Mandy answered, her laughter dying down.

Mickey sat up, swallowing as he noticed how dry his throat was. Of course Mandy knew his threats were all empty, too many years away from the South Side was making him soft.

_"So,"_ Mandy's voice deepened. _"Anything from Chris? Ian told me you mentioned him a few times last night."_

"It's done Mandy," Mickey answered coolly. "Stop asking about him, he's not coming back."

Mandy didn't miss a beat. _"Are you okay with that?"_

"Yes," he lied.

_"Okay."_ It was quiet for a long moment before Mandy spoke again. _"I'll let you go. Get some sleep shithead."_

Mickey didn't bother answering; the call was ended before he could have anyways. Mickey and Mandy had never been big on goodbyes or other normal loving sibling things. Neither of them were built for that type of relationship, their parents never taught them how.

Mickey looked down at his phone, narrowing his eyes at the top right corner seeing symbols for missed calls - definitely from Mandy - and a text message. He opened his texts clutching his phone a little tighter as he read the message over.

**[Chris 6:15PM]  
** _Need to talk to you. Coffee tmrw?_


	4. four.

Mickey lifted the cheap ceramic mug and guzzled down all of his coffee. He couldn't sit still, running his hands over his face and through his hair as his foot tapped rapidly beneath the table. He had barely slept the night before, completely unable to concentrate on anything except the text from Chris.

It had taken Mickey a total of ten seconds to decide to type out _'sounds good'_ hoping that it sounded calmer than he felt. He spent the rest of night switching between sleeping and smoking every fifteen minutes.

Mickey had been sure Chris was never going to talk to him again. He knew that Chris deserved better then him, he had always known that. Since the beginning of their relationship Mickey had been preparing for the inevitable breaking point, and over the past few days he had begun to settle into the idea that it had finally ended.

He wasn't happy. He had lost one of the two main people in his life, so of course he wasn't happy.

But he accepted it. Or he had.

He hated that a single text, just asking to talk, had suddenly brought all the feelings he'd been shoving down roaring back. His heart was pounding, his hands were sweating, his throat felt like it was closing and his eyes were glued to the diner's doors just waiting for Chris to walk through.

The waitress came back over, pouring more coffee into his cup and making some small talk that Mickey really didn't care about. He grunted at her, feigning that he was listening until she rolled her eyes and walked away. The door swung open and Mickey took a deep breath as he saw Chris come into view.

His hair seemed longer, though it might have been because there was no gel in it. He wasn't dressed too nicely, and he also seemed to have been too lazy to put his contacts in, wearing the thick black framed glasses Mickey used to always bug him about - of course, Mickey also thought he looked weirdly cute in them but would never admit it.

He looked good. Mickey shifted uncomfortably, knowing that he had bags under his eyes, mussed up hair with gel still in it from the day before. He probably looked like shit in comparison. These were things he never used to worry about around Chris. As Chris walked over to the table Mickey could see the stain of oil on Chris' hands, with dirt caked under his nails from too many long days at the Mechanics shop. It helped Mickey feel a little more comfortable.

"Hey," Chris greeted Mickey, sliding into the seat of the booth across from him.

Mickey gnawed at his lower lip and nodded, his voice still caught on the lump in his throat.

Chris chuckled and looked down at the table, "yeah." He muttered, seeming lost in his thoughts. "How are you?"

Mickey cleared his throat, straightening his seat a bit. _Shitty_ , he thought. "Fine."

There was a flash of disappointment on Chris' face before he smiled politely, "Good. I'm glad, I'm fine too."

"Good," Mickey commented, swallowing and looking down at his full mug of coffee. He had been waiting four days for this moment, for Chris to finally send him a text or call him again, wishing that he could have a chance to make amends or apologize. And here he was, getting that chance and fucking it up.

Chris let out a long breath of air and leaned back, "fucking cold outside."

Mickey looked up and laughed lightly. "It’s your own damn fault for moving here."

"Yeah," Chris nodded, laughing along as well. "Yeah, I made a bad call."

Mickey sniffed, "happens." The look in Chris' eyes shifted suddenly, there was more weight behind the word then Mickey had intended.

"Is that in reference to us?"

"Maybe just me," it was silent for a long moment, Chris' eyes glued to Mickey's. "Maybe I just keep fucking up."

Chris straightened his back, and looked out the window of the diner. "Yeah, maybe." He spoke bitterly before turning back to Mickey. "I need to move my stuff out."

Mickey felt a sudden jolt in his chest as Chris continued speaking. "I got a place of my own, and I just need to fill it with my stuff so I've got to get everything packed up."

Mickey blinked and looked around the diner, everything seemed so calm and content. How could everything still be so peaceful? There was a dull pain spreading through his chest, he clenched his fist and gritted his teeth.

"You asked me to meet you so you could just tell me you’re moving out?" Mickey hissed.

Chris shrugged, "you already knew I was moving out."

Mickey shook his head, standing up and tossing a few dollar bills on the table. "You goddamn fucker," Mickey grumbled and stomped out onto the street.

He marched down the street, pulling his jacket tightly around him, until he was stopped abruptly by a heavy hand on his shoulder spinning him around.

"Fuck you, you can't just walk out like that!" Chris snapped as Mickey pulled himself out of his exes grasp.

Mickey stepped closely to Chris, speaking lowly, "you could have texted that to me, or just fucking called. Why'd you want to meet? See how much you fucked me up?"

"I'm trying to be civil."

"Well don't. You walked out, you left me, and then you think you can just waltz around talking about picking your shit up like it's no big thing." Mickey clicked his tongue, stepping back, "well, I'll be out of the house the rest of the day. You feel free to pack up and get out."

Mickey turned around, continuing to walk through the brisk fall air of Chicago.

"I thought you were fine," Chris called out from behind him.

Mickey grunted and lifted his hand, flipping off Chris without bothering to turn around. He needed a drink.

* * *

Mickey stomped into Monty's and roughly pulled out one of the stools at the bar. He slammed himself down in the seat as a grinning Ian walked towards him.

"So, maybe turns out to be a yes."

Mickey slammed a five dollar bill on the counter, ignoring Ian's attempt at banter. "Give me a fucking beer."

Ian's grin faltered slightly, he clapped his hands together and grabbed a beer mug pouring Mickey a pint of beer. He slid the mug to Mickey, leaning on the bar and swinging the rag he was holding over his shoulder.

"Something got you down?" His voice was low and the cocky smile was back in place on his face.

Mickey leaned back, "do you really need to be a fucking cliché?"

"Cliché’s are there for a reason Mick."

Mickey crossed his arms, lips twitching as he struggled to keep his frown firmly in place. He eventually settled for keeping his mouth preoccupied by drinking beer.

Ian chuckled and shook his head. "So, what's going on?"

Mickey gulped down the last few sips of his beer, setting the mug back on the bar and running blunt thumbnail along his lower lip. "Got a text from Chris, met up with him," he grunted out, watching as Ian's happy expression dropped.

"Shit." He whispered, looking up at the clock Mandy always favored when she was working. "I'm guessing it didn't go well?"

Mickey lifted his eyes and fixed Ian with a sneer, "fucking genius over here."

Ian stood up, sucking air into his lungs and letting out a long breath. "I've got about forty minutes left in my shift."

"Fascinating."

"Want to hang out?"

Mickey plucked a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling one out and lighting it. He glanced at Ian, seeing the same nervous but hopeful expression he had the day before.

Mickey generally hated people and he especially hated people when he was angry. He didn't have friends; he had Mandy when he wanted to hang out, and Chris when he wanted to fuck - well, not Chris anymore. Ian seemed like he wanted a friendship, or something with emotional value, like he actually wanted to spend time with Mickey.

Which Mickey hated, because he hated spending time with new people. No one was an exception to that. Especially not tall, stupid ginger's with cocky smiles and large green eyes.

"Alright," Mickey answered, his mouth seeming to work against his brain.

Ian grinned excitedly; Mickey couldn't even pretend to hate it.

* * *

Ian looked impossibly giddy walking along the streets of downtown Chicago. Mickey thought he looked sort of adorable. His leather jacket was zipped up and a blue scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, with a tinge of pink on his cheeks from the cold and a smile permanently on his lips.

As soon as Ian's shift ended he had motioned Mickey to follow him, which Mickey had grumbled about for a while, mentioning that he wasn't a dog on a leash but he had followed obediently in the end anyways.

They walked for a while, not saying a thing to each other, just keeping a steady comfortable silence as Ian led him through the streets. They eventually stopped at a hot dog stand, grabbing one each and walking to a bench tucked away by a small park that was made up of mostly concrete and sculptures.

Ian finished eating first; wiping his hands on his jeans and leaning back, stretching his arms out on the back of the bench. "Break ups are rough." Ian stated, ending the long stretch of silence.

"I'm not talking about this," Mickey grumbled as he chewed.

Ian nodded, "I wasn't going to ask you to talk. Just listen."

Mickey furrowed his brow and snorted, about to argue that he didn't need a lecture either when Ian began to speak.

"I was with Kash for a really fucking long time. Fuck, I don't even know how long anymore, longer than it should have been anyways. We got together when I was fifteen and broke up about a year ago, so about five years." Ian was looking away from Mickey, keeping his face neutral but his voice was shaky. "Anyways, I worked for him, which is pretty fucked up already - I know. He was really sweet and bought me things, spent time with me whenever he could, he would cheer at all of my accomplishments and he always seemed to want the best for me."

Ian paused, seeming to mull over the words he was planning to say. "He was in the closet, had a wife like I said before. He also had kids, which made it all a lot more complicated. The thing is I fell for him. He said he loved me, and I was so sure that I loved him too. Then one day we got caught by his wife, and she was so mad. God, her face was just..." His voice trailed off and he looked down at his lap. "After that things started to change, I started to see him in a different way. He was still outwardly married, but kept me as his dirty little secret. I started to realize how it really was. He didn't love me, he just needed a release from his life and I was the best option. He had a perfect set up, and I was just letting him keep me as a mistress. So I got tired of it, left him and left the store." He straightened his neck, cracking his back and nodding. "Found a new job, moved away from home and the rest is history."

Mickey leaned back, his body turned towards Ian. "Fucker sounds like a creepy pedophile; you should've kicked his ass."

Ian huffed out a laugh and turned his head to look at Mickey. "Not the point, Mick."

"Then what is the point?"

"I thought I loved him, and when things ended between us I was heartbroken." Ian explained, moving his arms and resting his hands on his legs. "It took a little while but now I look back on it and think that he was a creepy pedophile - that I couldn't have been in love, and I wish I had gotten out sooner."

Mickey quirked an eyebrow and smirked, "so you're saying Chris is a pedophile? ’Cause I don't think that's true."

Ian grinned and laughed, leaving Mickey feeling lighter finally seeing Ian's smile after the heavy topic.

"You're such a shithead. What I'm saying is that sometimes you realize that everything you thought was so perfect wasn't. And in the end, you are better off."

Mickey nodded, rubbing his hands together and breathing in. He leaned over, bumping his shoulder against Ian's. "You ever see that Kash guy while I'm around, you tell me."

"Why's that?"

"So I can beat the shit out of the douchebag."

Ian bit his bottom lip, smiling and tilted his head, "my hero."

"Fuck off." Mickey snorted, rolling his eyes and shoving Ian away. Ian simply laughed off Mickey's weak attempts at hostility and stood up.

"Come on," Ian waved his hand. "Let's go have some fun."

Mickey chewed on his lower lip, watching Ian standing in front of him with his wide green eyes and hopeful smile. Mickey swallowed and stood, following behind Ian once again.

"What are you thinking?" Mickey asked.

"Drinking, dancing, general partying."

"Drinking sounds good, but I'm not fucking dancing."

Ian stopped at a crosswalk. He looked down at Mickey, tilting his head once again but this time his eyes were running over the length of Mickey's body and devouring him. Mickey could feel himself getting hard just from the filthy smirk on Ian's lips.

"I'll get you to dance." Ian answered confidently, and then turned to walk across the street as the lights changed with Mickey following closely behind him.


	5. five.

Mickey followed Ian through the crowd outside the club to the beginning of the line up. Ian leaned forward whispering to the bouncer and pointing at Mickey. The bouncer smiled and clapped a hand on Ian's back before letting both men in.

"Used to work here," Ian commented briefly as they walked through a narrow hallway. Upbeat music was echoing from behind a dark curtain, Mickey began to wonder what sort of sketchy club Ian had brought him to until they walked into the main space.

Lights were bright and flashing in a rotating pattern while music blared so loudly it was impossible to hear anything else. There was a large dance floor with tiles lighting up different colors, some raised blocks with young men in tight shorts gyrating, and a second level with even more men doing the same overtly sexual dance moves.  
  
Mickey immediately felt awkward.  
  
He had been out clubbing before, Mandy loved it so he would usually trail along behind her and glaring at every creep who hit on her. He had even gone to gay clubs with Chris before. When they first started hanging out neither of them had been out so it had been a safe place to go. But even then they would generally just buy beers and find some secluded space to make out before fucking in the bathroom.

But he'd never been at a gay club while being single.

"Drinks?" Ian asked while motioning to the nearest bar.

Mickey nodded quickly, following closely behind Ian. He would definitely need a drink.

Ian ordered a couple of beers and some shots, grinning over at Mickey as they were poured.  
  
Mickey narrowed his eyes at the clear liquid. "Tequila?"

Ian nodded with a cheeky grin, lifted his shot and waited for Mickey to do that same. Mickey wrinkled his nose; he learned a long time ago that he didn't mix well with tequila. He bit his lip and soon relented to Ian's expectant look, lifting his shot and downing it at the same time as Ian. He scowled and grabbed his beer, chasing the foul taste from his mouth.

Ian laughed and picked up his own beer. They walked to a nearby table; Ian casually leaned against it with his eyes glued to the dance floor. Mickey took another large gulp from his bottle; he had a terrible feeling that Ian was the kind of guy who loved to dance.

They had a few more drinks, chatting casually about work. Ian spent at least fifteen minutes explaining how the head chef was the most irritating people Ian had met. Apparently the chef had been complaining to their boss that he should be getting some of the tips because he did at his last job back in Canada. Ian thought the guy was an idiot, Mickey didn't care either way but something about Ian's ranting was immensely entertaining.

After a short lull in their conversation Ian nodded at a man directly across the dance floor from the and said; "That guy’s checking you out."

Mickey turned and squinted. There was a taller man, blond hair and very tan. He was the embodiment of the Miami surfer stereotype.  
  
"Nah, he's looking at you."

"Wanna bet?"

Mickey leaned back letting his gaze run over Ian's tall, lean frame and broad shoulders. The guy was blind if he wasn't checking Ian out.

"Alright," Mickey answered, "loser pays the tab?"

Ian grinned, "Perfect."

"So, how we gonna do this?" Mickey grunted, looking back at the tanned man.

Ian laughed shaking his head and pushed away from the table. "I'm going to go dance, and you can stay here. If he comes to talk to you, I win. If he comes to dance with me, you win."

Mickey shrugged, "what if he comes over here to ask if you've got a boyfriend?"

"He won't." Ian called out as he walked away to the dance floor.

Mickey looked over to the man in question once again. He was standing up straighter, his eyes darting between Mickey and Ian as the space between them grew. Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes, this bet would be easy. He cracked his back and lifted his beer, taking another drink before looking to the dance floor and being met with the most delicious sight.

Ian was dancing, surprisingly still alone, in a way that nearly made Mickey's jaw drop. He was rolling his hips to the music, holding his hands over his head before lowering them to run them along his body. His v-neck was tight on his biceps and torso, his muscles taunt with each movement. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, losing himself to the beat of the music. Mickey was mesmerized.

In fact, he was so entranced by the red head's movements that he didn't notice when the blond had stopped beside him until Ian had opened his eyes, smirked and cocked an eyebrow.

Mickey blinked and looked beside him. "Uh, hey."

"I'm Mason," the man said, and motioned to a waiter. "Let me buy you a shot?"

Mickey blinked again. Mason had been checking him out, and Ian had been right. He looked back to the dance floor and sadly noticed that Ian had moved further into the crowd.

"Alright," Mickey responded after a long silence.

Mason grinned brightly. "What's your name?"

"Mickey."

Mason ordered them a couple of shots as well as a Jack and Coke each. Mason started talking about his life, asking Mickey questions sometimes and receiving mostly grunts in response. Mickey sipped at his drink. He probably should have been paying more attention to Mason; he was a pretty good looking guy if you could get past the fact that he was a real life Ken doll.

Except Ian was still dancing, and there was no way Mickey would ever be able to focus on Mason when he could be watching Ian's body twisting and moving like that.

Mickey bit his lip as he snuck a quick look over to the red head, nearly groaning at the little thrusts Ian's hips made. He admired as Ian's soft, pink lips parted, his head tilting backwards once again. He looked so fucking perfect. It wasn't fair that he still pining after his ex-boyfriend, and then when he found the most perfect rebound fuck that could possibly exist Mickey was just left pining after him as well.

"Is that your boyfriend?"

"Huh?" Mickey was startled from his thoughts, noticing that he had now turned almost completely away from Mason to face Ian.

Mason frowned and pointed at Ian. "I saw you guys together earlier but I figured since he left you alone..."

"We're not together." Mickey answered, clearing his throat.

"But you want to be," Mason was looking down at his drink and twirling the straw around.

"No."

"You were just eye fucking him."

Mickey nearly choked as he took a sip of his drink. "What - fuck - no." He stumbled over his words and scratched the back of his neck. "He's just a friend, I guess."

Mason shook his head and scowled, "Liar. Hope you enjoyed your drink." He turned and stomped back towards the spot Ian and Mickey had first spotted him at.

Mickey opened and closed his mouth. He really didn't know how to react, because Mason wasn't actually completely wrong. Mickey looked back to the dance floor, his eyes focusing on Ian's face once again. He looked so content and relaxed. The song changed and a smile spread on Ian's face, his mouth moving along with the lyrics.

Mickey couldn't stop himself from smiling if he wanted to.

Ian tilted his head back up and looked over to where Mickey stood. He quirked his head and furrowed his brow as if asking where Mason went. Mickey just shrugged in response, downing the last of his drink and resting his elbows on the table.

Ian shook his head, laughing to himself and likely at Mickey's total incompetence at picking up guys (of course, Ian didn't know that he was solely to blame for that). Ian waved his hand towards himself, gesturing for Mickey to come over.

Mickey bit his lip and shook his head. Ian pouted and that was it, Mickey rolled his eyes and relented.

He pushed away from the table, awkwardly walking through the crowd trying his best not to shove anyone and failing miserably. When Mickey finally reached Ian, the red head's grin was the widest Mickey had ever seen.

"I don't know how to dance." Mickey admitted, leaning up to speak by Ian's ear.

"I'll show you." Ian's voice was low and rough. He put his hands on Mickey's hips, large and hot as they gripped him. Mickey swallowed as Ian began to guide Mickey's movements.

He kept his eyes trained on Ian's chest, not wanting to look up to Ian's face. Mickey was instead focused on keeping his breathing steady and keeping his half hard cock from being too obvious.

Ian moved his hands higher, his thumbs and index finger's under Mickey's shirt and brushing against the skin there. He gripped tighter and stepped closer, their hips rolling in rhythm less than an inch apart. Mickey was sure Ian knew he was hard now; he took a chance looking up at Ian and seeing him staring down at Mickey.

"Fuck," Ian muttered, still staring at Mickey with such an intensity and heat Mickey almost thought Ian was going to fuck him in the middle of the dance floor.

Mickey wouldn't have even minded at that point.

But instead Ian backed away, releasing Mickey and taking a deep breath. "Um, I'm going to grab a drink." He nodded, seeming to be convincing himself of his decision and walked over to the bar.

Mickey took a deep breath, shuffled away from the dance floor to discreetly adjust himself.

* * *

Mickey had ended up spending just over a hundred dollars for their tab at the club. He had grumbled and begrudgingly paid as Ian teased him. Ian claimed he had a sixth sense for _‘this type of thing’_ and that Mickey was an idiot for ever questioning him.

Mickey chuckled and flipped him off.

They walked out of the club and back into the cold. The sun had set while they had been inside, leaving the sky black and the city lit up. Mickey loved the city at night - all concrete, tall buildings and bright lights. There was really nothing else like it.

Ian looked over at Mickey with a wide smile plastered on his face and Mickey felt a rush of warmth through his body.

"Want to come back to my place?" Ian asked, "There’s a bottle of whiskey and it's closer than your apartment."

Mickey crossed his arms. "You propositioning me, Firecrotch?"

Ian shook his head. "I hear the proper way to do that is to grab someone's coat and tell them to fuck you."

Mickey licked his lower lip. "Nah, it's got a fucking terrible success rate."

"Well only an asshole would turn down that."

Mickey nodded, a tight smile on his lips, and watched Ian lean back laughing once again. Mickey shoved him lightly. "Come on, I want some fucking whiskey."

* * *

Ian's apartment was bigger than Mickey's. It was the first thing Mickey noticed when he stepped through the doorway. The second thing he noticed was that it was definitely cleaner. It was a nice enough place, the building was kind of cheap and rundown but the inside had been fixed up a bit and had it all the necessities.

Ian shrugged off his jacket and walked into the kitchen; he grabbed a couple glasses from a cupboard and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the counter. He walked over to the loveseat and looked to the door where Mickey still stood.

"You can come in, you know."

Mickey scowled but took off his jacket and walked over to sit on the couch beside Ian. "Alright, asshole, pour me drink."

Ian nodded, moving to open the bottle and fill both glasses halfway. He handed Mickey a glasses and leaned back.

"So you were a bartender at that club?" Mickey asked, taking a drink.

"Not exactly," Ian scratched the back of neck, looking down at his drink and blushing. "I was a dancer."

Mickey's eyebrows shot up, his imagination immediately conceiving an image of Ian in sparkly booty-shorts rolling his body and running his hands over his chest. That was quickly followed by the thought of Mickey being able to run his own hands over Ian and before he could think properly Mickey was saying, "That’s fucking hot."

Ian shifted his eyes to Mickey. "You think so?"

Mickey bit his lower lip, realizing too late what he said. Being around Ian while he was drunk was fucking impossible. "Well, yeah."

A small smile spread on Ian's lip and he took a long drink. "Thanks. I guess I'm kind of ashamed of it. I got the job right after everything with Kash, and it wasn't the best time in my life."

Mickey nodded, cracking each knuckle on his free hand. He was quiet as Ian continued speaking.

"I guess I just wanted to feel better, and it seemed like a good idea. My self-esteem was shit; felt like all I was good for was being a quick fuck. That's all I'd been to Kash."

Mickey swallowed, feeling the guilt creeping up and regretting every thought he'd had about Ian being a rebound fuck. He shook his head and looked down. "Fuck Kash. You're better than him." Mickey looked up at Ian, taking in the red head's wide eyes and partial opened mouth. "He's fucking terrible. Why did you ever love him?"

Ian shrugged, closing his mouth and relaxing against the couch. "There were good moments too."

Mickey snorted loudly and chugged his drink.

"It's like, I love my mom but I probably shouldn't. She's a strung out drug addict, always takes off and is bipolar but completely unwilling to admit it or take any medication." Ian explained his voice quieter, a little less sure of his words. "But when she was home it was like she was the life of the party, and there was never anyone who had believed in me more than she did." He laughed to himself, shaking his head and sipping at his drink. "When she found out I was gay she took me out to a club for the first time and danced the whole night with me."

Mickey finished his drink, leaned forward and poured himself another. "Fuck, if my dad had ever found out I was gay he would have killed me." He grabbed Ian's empty glass, pouring more and keeping his attention fixed away from Ian. "Didn't even risk anything more than one time fucks until after he was dead."

"Your Dad's dead?"  
  
Mickey looked up, handing back Ian's glass and meeting his gaze. "Yup, Mom is too."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Mickey answered gruffly, "Neither of them would have actually given a shit about me if they had known how much I like dick."  
  
Ian reached out, putting a hand on Mickey's shoulder and rubbing soothingly. Mickey felt a lump in his throat, looking at Ian's hand and then back to meet his soft gaze. He was being so gentle, something Mickey hated and aggressively avoided, but sitting with Ian it felt so natural to want to lean into him and soak up every second.

"I guess they were still my parents," Mickey spoke, his voice quiet and cracking. "It's like you said about your Mom, you know, all that fucking you shouldn't give a shit but... can't help it." He felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, blinking to keep them at bay. He didn't know why he was even saying anything, maybe he was drunker than he thought but sitting next to Ian, he felt safe. "Every time my dad got out of prison we'd have these bullshit welcome home parties for him. Whole family came together and got fucked up. Mom would be running around kissing us all on the cheek and calling us her babies or some stupid fucking shit," he bit his lip, remembering his Mom's sweet sing-song voice. "And Dad would always pull me aside, call me his boy, give me an extra beer and say he was proud."

Mickey lifted his hand, rubbing furiously at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "It wasn't always like that - fucking usually wasn't like that. She was fucked up all the time, and he'd wail on us for blinking wrong."

Ian's hand stilled and moved down to rest on Mickey's knee. "But even the one time is enough to make you care." Ian sniffed and nodded, "I get it."

Mickey looked down at his drink, his mind reeling. "Makes me think though, if I was making my dad proud, how fucking terrible am I?" He ran his tongue over his lower lip, resting his head back and closing his eyes. "Emotionally unavailable is probably the best of it. No fucking surprise Chris left."

"I don't think you're emotionally unavailable."

Mickey blinked open his eyes. Ian was staring at him, looking so honest and open, hand still gripping Mickey's knee.  
  
Ian's voice was quiet as he added, "you're perfect."

Mickey's eyes widen and his mouth dropped open. He ran through his mind trying to find something to say - anything to say - and came up empty. He moved smoothly, wrapping a hand behind Ian's neck and leaning up pressing a soft kiss to Ian's lips.

Ian parted his lips, wrapping an arm around Mickey pulling him to straddle his lap and deepening the kiss. Mickey nearly moaned at the feeling of Ian's hands rubbing against the skin just under his shirt. Mickey reached down to pull at the edges of Ian's shirt, sucking on the other man’s lower lip and feeling the taunt muscles underneath.

This was surely heaven.

Ian pulled back with a groan and moved his hands to rest on Mickey's lower back. "Shit," he hissed, resting his forehead against Mickey's and keeping his eyes closed.

Mickey remained quiet, breathing and trying to steady his heartbeat. "Sorry," he muttered, eyes scanning Ian's face looking for any indication at what he was feeling.

Ian smiled, "No, don't be sorry. I'm not." He breathed in and opened his eyes, "you're not ready though."

Mickey sat up straighter, looking down at Ian with a dirty grin admiring the red heads swollen lips and wreck expression. "Hard to get's getting me hard."

Ian let out a loud groan leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Fuck you."

"Well, if you insist."

Ian shoved Mickey off his lap, the brunet laughing loudly as he tumbled onto the couch.  
  
"Asshole."


	6. six.

Mickey hated sleeping with another person.

He liked to spread out when sleeping; sprawling out on his stomach with his face shoved into a pillow, his limbs stretched out, reaching for every corner of the mattress, and covers kicked mostly away except to cover his feet.

It was nothing personal, but other people tended to ruin his comfort.  
  
Chris was the exact opposite. Mickey had been surprised when he learned that the scruffy, dirty mechanic he had started seeing was actually an emotionally charged, needy cuddler. The difference had caused some arguments initially, but after a few years of bickering Chris had moved in and convinced Mickey it was a necessary part of a healthy relationship, claiming that maybe with someone he cared about it wouldn't be so bad.

Of course, Chris was wrong - Mickey still thought it was awful. Chris would lay on his side and wrap himself around Mickey at night, clinging to Mickey like he was a life sized teddy bear, forcing Mickey to lay on his side as well with his nose awkwardly shoved against Chris' Adam’s apple and hands pinned between their chests. It was hot, sticky, cramped, and suffocating, and then on top of all of the initial discomfort Chris would snore loudly throughout the full night. It didn't take long before Mickey began staying awake until Chris had fallen completely asleep and then pried himself away, allowing himself the small comfort of spreading out on half of the bed.

Chris woke up one night while Mickey was pulling away, he freaked out saying Mickey was being distant and cuddling at night shouldn't be so hard. Chris had gone to sleep on the couch and Mickey slept better than he had in three months.

That's why when Mickey blearily blinked his eyes open he was shocked to find himself curled up beside Ian.

At some point during the night, between the deep conversations and silly flirting, they seemed to have fallen asleep on the couch. Mickey with his legs slung over Ian's and tangled together at the ankles. Ian had an arm wrapped loosely around Mickey’s waist and the other hand on Mickey’s leg, his nose and mouth pressed against Mickey’s neck so he could feel every small breath Ian took. His own arms were wrapped around Ian's torso, both hands seeming to be underneath his shirt with one pressed against his back and the other resting on his torso.

Mickey's jeans were twisted oddly on his legs, his back was sweaty and his bones were aching from the odd angles. It was everything Mickey had always hated about cuddling.

Except he didn't hate it.

He flexed his fingers, pressing against Ian's hot flesh and received a small hum against his throat. In his drowsy state he briefly allowed himself to think once again about Chris saying it wouldn't be so bad with someone he cared for.

Mickey smiled as Ian nuzzled closer. He gripped the redhead a little tighter and closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep.

* * *

Mickey woke up alone a few hours later, there was a blanket draped over him and a pillow propped under his head. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes harshly, the world slowly coming into focus. He looked around the room, soberly taking in the view of Ian's apartment. He stood walking over to a bookcase next to the television. Along with a few books, there were picture frames scattered along each shelf. 

Mickey smiled looking at a close up picture of a young Ian, freckles covering his face and a goofy grin with his two front teeth missing. It was oddly adorable.

Loud crashing noises, and following low curses, from the kitchen pulled Mickey away from his investigating. He shuffled out of the living room and into the kitchen where Ian was bent over digging pans out from the cupboard. He had changed since Mickey had first woken up, wearing nothing but the sweatpants Mickey had lent him, hanging low on his hips.

Mickey smirked and crossed his arms. "Don't you have any of your own clothes?"

Ian shot up, his cheeks flushed red as he dropped the pans he was holding letting them make a loud crashing noise again. He flinched and shifted his eyes quickly between Mickey and the pans. "Shit, um, did I wake you up?"

Mickey shook his head, "I was already up."

Ian looked back at the counter, "Oh good."

"The fuck you doing?" Mickey asked, raising his hand and motioning to the cluster of pans and empty dishes behind Ian.

Ian scratched the back of his neck, looking at Mickey sheepishly as his cheek turned a darker shade of red. "I was trying to make breakfast before you woke up, but it's not really working out. And I don't really have any breakfast food, so I was trying to get creative but my mind just kept switching around and I just...” He took a deep breath, halting his rambling and shrugging. "It's not working."

Mickey stayed frozen for a second letting the moment sink in. Ian was doing this for him, but more than that, Ian was trying to impress him. Mickey laughed loudly and shook his head, surprised that he wasn't more uncomfortable with the sweet gesture.

"You don't need to do this shit, Ian."

"I know that, I just thought it might be nice." Ian's eyes were wide and honest, too much depth showing in them for it to be safe. Mickey's gaze dropped to Ian's lips, remembering the short kiss they shared the night before. He wanted to walk the small distance between them and kiss Ian until he was breathless.

But that wasn't all he wanted anymore.

Mickey wanted to talk to him more, tease him a bit, joke around, make him laugh and smile, wrap his arms around Ian and kiss him lightly. He wanted to be close enough to touch him, even just hold his fucking hand. Mickey just wanted to be near him and be completely wrapped up in everything Ian.

The realization struck Mickey so suddenly he wasn't sure how to handle it. He liked Ian, definitely as more than a quick fuck, and likely as more than a friend. Gnawing guilt spun in his stomach as he thought of Chris, wondering if he liked Ian more than Chris. He'd barely known Ian for a week, how the fuck could he to compare that to a three year relationship? Maybe he was just projecting his feelings for Chris onto Ian, he heard that people do that sometimes after long relationships. His stomach twisted more at the thought, remembering Ian's words from the night before about never being more than a quick fuck. He hated that anyone would think of Ian like that, that he already had thought of Ian like that, that maybe he still did and he just didn't know it.

The myriad of emotions hit him like a freight truck, leaving him itching to run and hide, but frozen in place. He felt like he might puke, and the amount of alcohol consumed the night before was probably not helping.

Mickey's thoughts were thankfully interrupted when Ian huffed out a laugh and turned around shaking his head at the mess. "This is a lost cause I think; want to just go out for breakfast?"

Mickey swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry and uncomfortable. He wasn't sure he could be around Ian alone right now. Shit, he wanted to be though. He wanted to completely forget about food and drag Ian back to the couch, curl up in his arms and shut out every bad thought circling in his brain. He wanted to feel the too hot and not quite comfortable cuddling from earlier that was just so perfectly imperfect.

Ian stepped towards Mickey, frowning and tilting his head, "Mick? Are you okay?"

"Fine," Mickey snapped, coming back to his senses and flexing his hands at his side. "M'fine."

Ian nodded and clapped his hands together. "So breakfast?" He seemed to sense the sudden unease in Mickey again and smiled gently. "I'm going to invite Mandy along too; I haven't seen her outside of work for awhile since she's always busy with you." He chuckled and leaned back against the counter, "you're my _in_ for some Mandy time."

Ian was lying, Mickey knew that, but somehow it made everything a little lighter.

"Well at least I'm good for something," Mickey answered, letting himself slip back into the easy banter.

"And not just that, you're also good for whenever I need someone excessively grouchy."

Mickey snorted. "Shut the fuck up and call Mandy, asshole."

Ian laughed loudly as he pulled out his phone, and Mickey felt a slight flutter in his chest at the sound.

* * *

Mandy was already at the diner by the time Ian and Mickey had arrived. She jumped up from her seat grinning and gave Ian a long hug. The place was called Parkway Diner, it was a dingy little place with dim lighting and 70's decor. Ian had recommended the breakfast though, claiming that it was the least well-known but greatest breakfast spot in Chicago. Mickey wasn't so sure if believed that anymore, but he had never been one to be picky.

Mandy turned her head, still wrapped up in Ian's arms, to look at Mickey and wrinkled her nose. "You look like shit."

"Fuck off." Mickey muttered, half-heartedly flipping her off and dropping into the empty chair.

"We were out drinking all last night," Ian explained as he pulled back from Mandy, they both took a seat across the table from Mickey. "Mick's a bit hungover this morning."

Mickey scowled, "don't even pretend you don't feel as shitty as me! You just got to fucking shower and look presentable."

Ian smirked and shrugged, "I offered to let you shower, Grumpus."

It was true, he did, but Mickey honestly didn't think he could handle being naked in the same place Ian had just been naked a few minutes before, especially not after his minor panic attack that morning.

Mickey grunted, ignoring Mandy and Ian's giggles, and looked at the shitty plastic covered menu in front of him

"So where'd you guys go last night?" Mandy asked, sipping at a mug of coffee she must have ordered earlier.

"Dunno, some fruity club he found." Mickey answered gruffly waving his hand in Ian's direction.

"The White Swallow," Ian answered, a mischievous smile spreading on his lips. "You should have seen Mickey, he loved it."

Mandy's eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped, "seriously? No fucking way, you should have invited me! What happened?"

Mickey groaned loudly, "nothing happened, Mandy."

Mandy whipped her head back and forth between Ian leaned back and laughing, and Mickey grunting about killing Ian.

"Ian!" She whined and pouted at the red head.

Ian waved a hand in front of his face and shook his head. "Nothing really happened, Mands, just a regular night at the club, maybe with a little extra flirting."

"Who did you flirt with?!" Mandy turned determinedly back to Mickey.

"Fucking dick," Mickey murmured, his eyes glued to Ian and his too wide grin.

It wasn't long before they were shoveling their way through an Olympic-sized breakfast and Mickey had been pleasantly surprised when Ian's claims about the food quality turned out to be true. He spent the rest of the meal keeping his mouth stuffed full to avoid answering any of Mandy's questions, instead settling to listen as Ian told Mandy a slightly revised version of the night before.

Ian didn't mention the dance, and he didn't mention the kiss, for which Mickey had never been so grateful in his life.

Mickey finished his meal, pushing it aside as Ian was regaling Mandy with a tale from later in the night, in which he and Ian had both realized they were out of cigarettes and were trying to convince a man to hand over his last two.

"He was being a real ass about it and neither of us knew what his problem was, so we ended up swiping them off this guy. And then just as I was lighting up, Mickey hits my arm and we both realized that we were standing right in front of a fucking gas station." Ian grinned widely as he spoke while Mandy laughed loudly at every word.

Mickey snickered at the memory. "And then dumb-ass here realized that they guy had actually been telling us to just go buy some."

"Hey now," Ian said turning to point at Mickey, "you were the one who told me that we should just rob him!"

"Maybe I just wanted a couple free smokes."

Ian grinned and leaned back, "you're a bad influence on me."

"Mm, clearly not bad enough," Mickey answered, swiping his tongue over his lower lip quickly. Ian breathed in and Mickey swore he could see Ian's eyes darken slightly; the filthy smirk was back from the night before. Mickey felt a twist in his gut once again, guilt from his stupid crush creeping back, but he refused to look away from Ian's eyes.

Mandy cleared her throat loudly, interrupting the moment. "Sounds hilarious," she spoke cautiously, eying both of them.  
  
Ian swallowed, looking down and pulling out his phone. "Shit," he hissed, a second later he was standing and shrugging on his coat. "Sorry, I've got to run." He pulled out his wallet, tossing a twenty dollar bill on the table and giving Mandy a short hug. "I'll see you both soon," he called out and rushed out of the diner, sparing only a moment to meet Mickey's gaze - his expression something Mickey couldn't read.

"So," Mandy began as she shoveled a pile of scrambled eggs into her mouth; classy and poised as always. "I like Ian."

"No fucking kidding."

"I like him better than Chris," Mandy continued.

Mickey grunted, "Good for you."

"Ian's not a pretentious North Side asshole."

Mickey crossed his arms, "neither is Chris, he's from Seattle."

Mandy shrugged, waving Mickey off and chewing loudly. "Same shit, different name."

Mickey fought diligently to keep himself from laughing, and in the end failed miserably.


	7. seven.

Chris had a complete lack of texting ability. The guy was a mechanic with big thumbs, and oil caked into his fingerprints - touch screens and small keyboards were his greatest enemies. Mickey was also a terrible texter. He loved the ability to confirm details quickly, or ask a simple 'yes or no' question without the expected politeness of a phone call, but he never quite got the need to have full out conversations.

He'd always thought it was kind of stupid that anyone would need to be talking to a friend or boyfriend constantly. More than anything else, texting for the hell of it just seemed grossly dependent. As a result, Chris and Mickey would never text unless they had something important to say and very little time to say it.

Ian, once again, was an entirely different story

Somehow, somewhere, Ian had gotten Mickey's phone number.

And not only that, but he had also somehow entered his own number in Mickey's phone under the name 'Sexy Firecrotch Bartender' once again proving what a cocky shit he was.

Ian would text Mickey at least three different topics a day, if not more. He would send a picture of something stupid (usually a funny face he made while 'dying of boredom' at work) or tell him about something a drunk patron said or did (like the guy who got in a fight but ended up hitting himself in the face), and then he would always quiz Mickey about his day. It was like playing twenty fucking questions, every single day.

It should have annoyed him, but Ian seemed to have a habit of making terrible things not-so-bad. Mickey was actually starting to sort of like it, if he was being honest. It was kind of nice having someone to talk to when he got fed up at work, or bored while at home sitting on his couch. The months passed by and Mickey had gotten so used to texting Ian that eventually he actually started the conversations by himself. Slowly it turned into constant back and forth conversation that only halted when Mickey was actually hanging out with Ian, which happened at least five times a week. Mickey was spending more time with Ian than he had spent with anyone outside his family. Mickey would never admit it, but he was becoming more and more dependent on Ian, and strangely he found himself enjoying it.

* * *

Mickey raised a cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. He'd been working steadily since seven that morning and was taking a well-deserved break outside. Mickey left the cigarette perched between his lips and rubbed his hands together. The days were getting steadily colder as the seasons changed; it was actually close enough to winter at this point that it was surprising Chicago had yet to see any snow. Mickey squinted at the sky and frowned at the lack of sunshine, it was certainly bleak enough to be winter.

Mickey reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, deciding to distract himself from the depressing weather and bitter cold. He smiled privately when he saw two text messages from Ian.

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 11:46am]**  
_its you from the first night we hung out!!!_

Mickey snorted at the picture that followed the text, it was a man slumped over the bar, his eyes half open and a beer glass tipped towards his mouth but still resting on the table. Ian was standing behind him and pointing discreetly with a teasing smile. Mickey was quick to snap a photo of himself flipping Ian off and sending it.

Ian responded less than a minute later.

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 3:16pm]**  
_awwwwwww your so dirty._

**[Mickey 3:16pm]**  
_ya sum of us gotta do real wrk for a living_

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 3:18pm]**  
_its good dirty suits you ;)_

Mickey bit down on his lip trying to hold back a large smile even though he was standing in the alley behind the work completely alone. Fucking Ian couldn't go one conversation without some kind of innuendo. Mickey had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Of course Mickey really liked innuendos, he probably used them just as much if not more than Ian, but Mickey was also trying very hard to suppress the ever growing crush he seemed to have on Ian and the constant flirting had been doing nothing to help.

**[Mickey 3:19pm]**  
_u talk to all ur friends like this_

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 3:19pm]**  
_just the hot ones_

It was seriously fucking impossible not to have a crush on the idiot. Mickey ran a hand over his face and tossed the butt of his cigarette on the sidewalk, grinding it out with the sole of his boots.

**[Mickey 3:22pm]**  
_g2g back to wrk_

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 3:22pm]**  
_booooooo :( :( you need a job you can text at_

**[Mickey 3:23pm]**  
_find me one that pays as good_

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 3:23pm]**  
_fiiiiiiiine_

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 3:23pm]**  
_you wanna come over after? we can play battlefield or something_

Mickey glanced at his work and leaned back against the wall. He pretended for a moment that he could ever say no to Ian, and felt the slightest bit of relief for the excuse of video games instead of just spending time with the red head.

**[Mickey 3:25pm]**  
_ya cya then_

* * *

"Fuck off, this isn't fair!" Ian growled, throwing down his controller when once again his video game character was shot by Mickey's.

Mickey snickered and glanced at Ian, "if you don't pick that back up I'm really gonna kick your ass."

Ian groaned loudly, leaning his head back, letting it rock back and forth against the couch. "Yeah, whatever, you've got one thing you can beat me at."

"Beat you in an arm wrestle too," Mickey answered shoving Ian lightly and shooting his character once again after he respawned.

"It was an off day."

Mickey snorted and shut down the game once it became obvious that Ian wasn't going to pick up his controller again. One of Ian's many quirks was that he hated not having a natural talent for something. That didn't stop him from working hard to get better, if anything it drove him to work harder, but it did generally put him in a terrible mood.

Mickey switched the input on the television, letting whatever shitty network show that was on play and leaning forward to grab the pack of cigarettes on Ian's table. Ian laid down on the couch, his head on the armrest and spreading his legs out to rest his feet on Mickey's legs. Mickey looked up at him and forced a frown when he was met with Ian's cocky grin.

Mickey leaned back again, not bothering to move Ian's feet and lit a cigarette, "asshole."

"Don't be a grouch Mick," Ian wagged a finger to go along with his cheeky voice. He extended his hand two fingers parted and waiting for Mickey to place the cigarette there.

Mickey snorted and shook his head, "stop being a lazy fuck."

Ian laughed and rested back against the couch, letting one of his feet rub against Mickey's thigh, the little smile on his lips showing that he knew exactly what he was doing. Mickey ran his tongue over his lower lip and shook his head as he looked away from Ian, resting his head back as Ian stopped his idle movements. Mickey smoked while Ian hummed softly for a while, both of them enjoying relaxing in their own way but still together.

"Hey, so I have a question for you," Ian began, tangling his own fingers together and fidgeting. "My birthday's coming up and my family is putting together this small get together for me."

"Alright."

"I was wondering if you'd want to come."

Mickey crossed his arms and watching Ian carefully. Ian's foot was tapping against his thigh again, his hands were twitching, his eyes were wide and hopeful and his lips pressed tightly together. He always seemed to get nervous and anxious when asking Mickey something. Mickey didn't know whether he was flattered that Ian thought so highly of him to even be nervous, or sad that Ian thought he had any reason to be.

"I invited Mandy too," Ian continued speaking reminding Mickey that he had been silent for too long. "So, it's not like you'll be all alone, you'll know her and me."

Mickey laughed lowly and nodded, "stop yammering, I'll go."

"Really?" Ian's grin stretched across his face and his eyes brightened.

"Yeah dumbass, of course," Mickey answered slapping Ian's calf lightly and biting his lower lip. He was pretty sure he would say yes to anything that would make Ian's face light up like that. Mickey rubbed a hand over his face harshly, trying to ignore the thoughts circling in his head.

This stupid fucking crush was going to be the death of him.

* * *

Mickey and Mandy were the type of people who were perpetually late. Mickey blamed it on his parents, there was no reason for it really other than that Mickey blamed pretty much every bad quality of his on his parents. He'd always figured the best part of having shitty parents was the ability to never take responsibility for his own personality defects.

Unfortunately, being dumped by Chris was proof that those excuses had their limits.

Mickey figured he could still shuck away the blame for lacking punctuality though, which was why Mickey didn't feel remotely guilty when he and Mandy showed up three hours late for Ian's birthday party.

It was immediately evident that Ian and Mickey had two very different ideas of what a small get together was. There must have been at least fifty people running around, celebrating and drinking freely. There were streamers and balloons everywhere throughout Murphy's clashing terribly with the regular rustic look of the place. Mickey was frozen to his spot, feeling entirely out of place and uncomfortable. Mandy elbowed him roughly in the back, nudging him forward.

"Move Jackass," she hissed loudly. Mickey turned and scowled at her before making his way gracelessly through the crowds.

Ian was easy to spot, standing near a table and chatting with a couple of people. He looked up from his conversation and spotted Mickey and Mandy, waving them over and smiling brightly. Mandy shot past Mickey, running over to Ian and being swept up into his arms. Mickey felt a twinge of jealousy as he shuffled over awkwardly, he shoved down the urge to do something stupid like hug Ian as well and instead waved curtly.

"Mickey, Mandy, this is half of family." Ian gestured the table they were standing next to. Ian's cheeks were flush from the alcohol, his speech beginning to slur slightly and his eyes were out of focus. Mickey wondered briefly how much Ian had managed to drink in the past few hours.

There were three people seated at the table, two boys and one girl. Mickey vaguely recognized them from the photos on Ian's bookshelf in his house. One of the boys looked to be about Ian's age, he was shorter with curly hair and a smug expression similar to the one Ian often had, except where it looked endearing on Ian it just made this guy look like an asshole. The other two looked more like Ian, the girl was taller and l had red hair with a blunt cut at her shoulders, the boy had dark hair cut short and a tall, lean build much like Ian. Both of them looked young, almost certainly too young to be drinking.

"My older brother Lip," Ian gestured to the curled haired boy, "and two of my younger siblings, Debbie and Carl."

Lip reached out to shake hands with Mickey while trying to discreetly glance at Mandy beside him. Mickey sneered and took Lip's hand, squeezing it a little too hard and smiling tightly. If Lip had any type of brains he would recognize the warning.

"So, you're the guy Ian's been hanging around recently?" Lip asked, quirking an eyebrow and examining Mickey's tattoos.

"Sometimes," Mickey grunted as he pulled his hand back.

Lip glanced at Ian and shrugged, "interesting."

Ian narrowed his eyes at Lip. "Shut the fuck up," he hissed, probably louder than he intended and causing Mandy to break out in giggles beside him.

Mickey turned his gaze to look at the younger boy, Carl, as he nudged Mickey and spoke. “Hey, can you grab me a beer?”

Mickey snorted and shook his head, "you look a little young for twenty-one, and I'm not getting in shit so you can sip on a Lucky's."

Carl shrugged easily, unfazed by Mickey's rejection, "what if it was a Coor's?"

Debbie rolled her eyes dramatically and stood, her chair screeching loudly on the floor as she moved. "Come on Carl, I'll get you something; the perks of dumb male bartenders." The two younger siblings made their way across the bar, Mickey snickered when he saw Debbie's over-the-top hair twirling method of flirting and laughed loudly when it worked.

"Fucking Jeremy," Ian muttered shaking his head. "He better not make a move on her or I'm kicking his ass tomorrow."

Mandy uncharacteristically giggled once again (Mickey was taking it as a sign that she definitely drank before coming), "I don't know, Jer's not that bad."

Both of the older Gallagher boy's leveled Mandy with a glare, she raised both her hands in surrender and grabbed Ian's glass taking a long sip out of it. "Sorry boys, my bad," she finally said, "your innocent little sister is, of course, going to be a sweet precious virgin forever." She rolled her eyes and stood, muttering to herself, "fucking men, such fucking bullshit."

Mandy chugged the remainder of Ian's drink before turning on her heel angrily and walking towards the bar, stopping once she was beside Debbie and starting a conversation with the young girl.

Lip looked over at Ian and grinned, "She’s feisty."

"You touch my sister and I'll break your fingers." Mickey growled, adding to effect as he cracked each of knuckles slowly.

Lip's mouth remained firmly shut after that.

* * *

The celebration went by slowly for Mickey. He wasn't interested in meeting anyone new and mostly sat at a table near the back corner by himself. Ian would sometimes run over, giddy and grinning like it was the best night of his life, either talking about all the wonderful things happening or pulling over a new friend he apparently needed to meet.

So far he had been introduced to Fiona, Ian's older sister, Kev and Vee, his former neighbours, Tim, a bartender that Ian used to work with, and Jimmy, a guy who used to date Fiona but now no one actually knew what was going on between them. Mickey wasn't overly fond of any of them and was perfectly content to sip at his beer and ignore each of them the moment Ian wandered away.

Mandy slipped into the seat next to Mickey, she was hammered, her seat swaying dangerously as she tried to find some sort of solid position. Mickey let out a long dramatic sigh and reached over, draping his arm over Mandy's shoulder and steadying her.

"How's your night Mick?" Mandy slurred happily, "You’re all frowny over here alone."

"Frowning is my neutral face," Mickey answered and looked away from Mandy, his eyes scanning the crowd until they finally settled on Ian. He was leaning against a table, not too far away but far enough that Mickey would have to shout to get his attention.

A taller man walked up behind Ian, wrapping an arm around him from behind. Mickey didn't miss the way Ian leaned back into the man's hold, or the small smile on his lips as the man’s hand made a trail along the hem of his shirt.

"Who's that guy?" Mickey was once again working against his own common sense as he asked Mandy the question.

Mandy looked up and squinted at the pair; she chuckled and leaned back against Mickey. "That's just Aaron."

Mickey resisted the urge to smack Mandy, "Who the fuck is Aaron?" Mandy yawned, her eyes closed as she rubbed her nose against Mickey's sleeve. Mickey grimaced at the action, "and Christ Mandy, stop rubbing your snot all over me."

"Fuck you," Mandy scowled and stuck her tongue out as she fumbled her way back into a proper sitting position.

Mickey watched her for a long gap of silence, "Aaron, Mandy, who the fuck is he?"

"Just his fuck buddy," Mandy answered tapping her fingers on the table before turning her head and grinning at Mickey. "Are you jealous?"

"Fuck off," Mickey scowled at her and stood, leaving Mandy to fumble and clutch at the table.

Mickey would never admit it, especially not to Mandy, but he was definitely jealous. He had always known, without a single doubt, that Ian could have any guy he picked. Ian was gorgeous, smart, hilarious, and about as gay as gay could get - he was the whole fucking package. Mickey knew it was impossible he was the only one to notice it, but in the months that he and Ian had gotten to know each other he had never seen Ian actually flirting.

It bothered him a lot more than he expected it would, a lot more than it had ever bothered Mickey when someone flirted with Chris - which also just served to add more irksome qualities to the irritating situation.

* * *

"Hey," Mickey murmured as he reached the table Ian had been slumped over for about an hour. Ian tilted his head, looking up through droopy eyes and smiling crookedly. Most of the crowds had filed out; the only other people left in the bar were Mandy, Lip and Debbie. The three had taken over Mickey's booth in the back corner, Lip seemed to be making it his mission to get somewhere with Mandy, while Mandy and Debbie ignored him, giggling and discussing brands of make-up they used.

"Mickey!" Ian greeted him enthusiastically. "I'm quite drunk I believe."

"You've been quite drunk for about four hours."

"Yeah," Ian sat up straighter with a matter-of-fact tone to his voice. "That is likely true."

"Aye, this is like the first time we hung out." Mickey suddenly said with a big smile, thinking of Ian’s teasing text the day before, "except you're the drunk and I'm not."

Ian laughed loudly and leaned back a little too far, the stool starting to tilt and fall until Mickey reached out, grabbing onto Ian's wrist and pulling him back to the table. Mickey kept his hold on Ian's wrist, idly rubbing at the soft skin there and watching as Ian's crooked smile turned into a private and genuine smile, Mickey’s heart stuttered at the sight and thought that the look was just for him.

"You looked so hot," Ian broke the silence and snickered, "you look hot today too."

Mickey looked down at where he was rubbing Ian’s wrist, chewing on his lip trying to hold back a smile. “Fuck off,” he muttered.

"It's true," Ian continued, "There is nobody in the whole fucking world as hot as you, Mick." His eyes were drooping again as he spoke, "nobody as grumpy and cute either."

Mickey’s head snapped up, "stop calling me cute."

"But you are," Ian whined playfully, before frown took over his expression. His eyes meeting with Mickey's as he spoke, "I wanted to fuck you so bad that night."

Mickey bit down on his lower lip hard. Mickey was nowhere near as drunk as Ian was, but he was still pretty fucking drunk and in no way prepared to handle Ian's words.

"Fuck, you looked so good and when you were kissing my neck..." Ian's words trailed off as his eyes traveled along Mickey's body, subconsciously licking his lips when his eyes settled on Mickey's throat and then up to his lips. "Shit, and that kiss at my apartment - I can't stop thinking about it."

Mickey swallowed and started making little circles on Ian's wrist with his thumb. "So, I saw you with Aaron," Mickey's voice was quiet, he was sure he sounded weaker than he meant. "Mandy said you guys are fuck buddies, you could probably kiss him and think about that instead."

Ian shook his head, reaching forward and forcing Mickey's chin up until their eyes met. "Aaron is just some guy, I barely know anything about him and I don't give a shit about him." Ian stumbled out of his seat, stepping up in front of Mickey's and pressing tightly against him. Ian ran his fingers down Mickey's arms, smiling as Goosebumps pebbled to the surface at his touch. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Mickey's and closing his eyes. "With you everything is different; you've got to know what I mean."

Mickey didn't have a chance to respond before Ian had leaned down further, his lips grazing Mickey's collarbone and moving up his neck. Mickey closed his eyes; any words he wanted to say were trapped in his throat, unable to do anything other than enjoy the sensation of Ian's lips and tongue. "You're just so much better," Ian whispered against his skin, kissing along his jaw before moving to his cheeks.

Just as Mickey thought Ian was finally going to capture his lips, the red head moved quickly to lick and bite at Mickey's earlobe.

"I want you so fucking bad," Ian growled, placing his hands on Mickey's hips and pulling him roughly forward on the seat to grind their crotches. Mickey let out of low moan at the unexpected contact and breathed in shakily.

"Ian," Mickey choked out as the younger boy continued to roll his hips, sucking and biting at Mickey's neck again.

Every time they had been drunk before, Mickey had been the one to make a move, and Ian had always stopped him. In that moment Mickey hated no one more than himself and the fact that he needed to be the responsible one. He knew Ian wouldn't want this when he was sober, and reluctantly settled into the idea that he needed to stop it. Mickey leaned his head back, trying to ignore the sensation and pretending it didn't feel as incredible as it did.

"You gotta stop," Mickey groaned, reaching up and gently pushing Ian away.

Ian furrowed his brow, stumbling slightly and gripping Mickey's arms for support. "You want me to stop?"

Mickey huffed out a laugh and shook his head, "fuck no, but you'll regret this when you're sober."

"I'd never regret you," Ian answered with a frown. "You know that right?"

Before Mickey could answer Lip, Mandy and Debbie were walking over to them. All of them laughing and running into chairs and tables as they walked. Ian backed away from Mickey carefully, taking his own seat once again and scratching at the back of his neck.

Mandy draped her arm over Mickey's shoulder and grinned lazily, "you ready to go douchebag?"

Mickey glanced at Ian, his gaze lingering for a short moment as he nodded, "yeah, let's go."


	8. eight.

Mickey was falling fast and there was no use in denying it anymore.

After Ian's birthday Mickey couldn't get to sleep, he laid in bed tossing and turning thinking about how Ian had basically admitted to some deeper connection between them. Mickey knew he liked Ian, he'd been trying to suppress the feeling for months but hearing Ian say something was there too made his terrifying feelings impossible to ignore.

This was fucking stupid, because if anyone was good and not having feelings or caring it was Mickey. Emotionally unavailable, right? Or not, because here was falling for some dorky red head with a big smile and addicting laugh. And it was so fucking easy to fall too; maybe that's what scared him the most. When he fell for Chris it had been a steady decline, like walking down a flight of stairs and taking each careful step to the bottom after becoming comfortable with the stage he was at.

With Ian it was like jumping out of plane.

It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Everything a blur and happening faster than he could think, nothing to hold onto and no way to stop, he wasn't even sure he would stop himself if he could at this point.

Ian had said, _"Everything is different with you, you've got to know that."_

And it was, it was all so fucking different and amazing. Mickey couldn't pretend it wasn't anymore; he couldn't hide behind his guilt about Chris anymore, because it was all right fucking there in front of him.

Mickey's phone vibrated loudly on his nightstand and Mickey grumbled, he was awake anyways he figured and picked up his phone pressing the unlock button to see a message from Ian lighting up the screen.

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 7:20am]**  
_oooooh fuck my head hurts_

**[Mickey 7:21am]**  
_u drank half the bar_

Mickey snickered as he quickly typed the message to send back. Trying not to think about what he would do if Ian had been so drunk that he didn't remember their conversation the night before. It was possible, just not ideal, especially since it was a conversation that had spun Mickey completely out of alignment.

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 7:24am]**  
_fuck me_

Mickey was about to reply with a snarky message about how he'll be there in ten, but his typing was interrupted by another message from Ian.

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 7:24am]**  
_sorry for last night btw. i didnt mean to make you feel weird i just get really honest when im drunk._

So he did remember, and he wasn't taking any of it back, he wasn't even pretending that he didn't mean it. Mickey could feel his cheeks flushing as he tried to keep from smiling, he had never been so glad that he was alone in the dark of his bedroom.

**[Mickey 7:28am]**  
_didnt feel weird. u wanna do sumthin when ur done puking?_

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 7:29am]**  
_yes!! :D_

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 7:31am]**  
_and im not puking dick_

Mickey snickered as he read the text and settled back down into his bed, his brain feeling a little more at ease from the short conversation. He curled up clutching his phone and texting Ian until he finally dozed off.

* * *

It was kind of peaceful to walk on the boardwalk during winter, in the summer it was always so busy but in the winter there was barely anyone clogging up the pathway. Sure, it was a little colder during the winter but Mickey figured he could bundle up if it meant he didn't have to deal with crowds. Ian walked beside him, his hand were shoved deeply in his pockets because for some reason he never remembered gloves, and a scarf pulled up around his neck, but his pink nose was still hanging over the top. Mickey narrowed his eyes as he saw Ian shivering and shook his head, for someone who had lived in Chicago his whole life, Ian wasn't very good with the cold.

"You wanna grab a coffee or something?" Mickey asked eying Ian's shaking arms.

Ian looked down at Mickey and shook his head. "Nah, not thirsty. We can just keep walking."

"Really? 'Cause the way your twitching makes it look like its cold enough for limbs to fall off," Mickey comments, pointing at Ian's knees and raising his eyebrows.

Ian shrugged and shuffled his feet from side to side, "you want to keep walking though."

"You don't gotta do shit I want," Mickey answered with a snort.

"What if I want to do shit you want?" Ian's got one of his cocky grins; Mickey can practically see it even though there's a big woolen scarf in the way.

Mickey reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Ian's jacket, muttering, "Fuck off, come on."

Ian laughed and followed Mickey's pull without any resistance. Mickey looked around the area, spotting a coffee shop just across a small park from where they were. Mickey dropped Ian's jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one as he stomped across the snow covered grass.

"Man on a mission," Ian mumbled and jogged to keep pace with Mickey. "Wanna slow down, maybe?"

Mickey looked up at Ian and frowned, "you're fucking freezing out here and you want to slow down? It's not like I'm fucking sprinting, Ian, you've got long legs - keep the fuck up."

"You say the sweetest things to me."

"Fuck off," Mickey grumbled around the cigarette perched between his lips.

Ian grinned, taking a hand out of his pocket to pluck the cigarette from Mickey's lips and take a long drag. "Seriously, I've never felt so loved." Mickey scowled and reached over punching Ian's arm and earning another laugh from the red head. "Alright, calm down, thanks for rushing me inside and away from the cold."

Mickey reached up, grabbing the cigarette back quickly and smirking, "that's more like it."

They walked in silence the rest of the short walk to coffee shop, passing one cigarette back and forth, never bothering to light a second one. Mickey was kind of glad Ian never asked for his own, he liked feeling the brush of Ian's fingers against his own and how natural it was to share with him. As they approached the coffee shop Mickey dropped the leftover nub on the ground and squashed it with his foot while Ian jogged ahead and held open the door.

Mickey snickered as Ian made a show of being 'gentlemanly' moving his hand to gracefully motion Mickey through the door like he's a butler in some lame romantic comedy Mandy watches. Ian stepped through the door behind him and tugged his scarf down, looking up at the menu over-top the counter.

"You find a seat and I'll grab coffee?" Ian asked, looking down to see a sharp nod of confirmation from Mickey. "It's about thirty sugars, right?"

Mickey chuckled and shoved Ian playfully, "go get my coffee, asshole."

Ian turned away and walked to the counter, giggling at his own stupid little joke as he went. Mickey watched him for a moment, not even trying to hide his own stupid smile. Ian had that effect on him, always making him laugh and smile no matter the situation. The red head had a fucking gift that was for sure. Mickey spun around, pulling at his own scarf and looking for an open table but he froze as his eyes settled on the table directly in front of him.

Fucking Chris was right there, sitting at a table and sipping at his coffee. He looked good too, a pair of nice jeans and a button down shirt, his hair was styled and he had his dorky, adorable glasses on. He actually looked really good; it didn't make sense because Chris never dressed up without any reason. Mickey shifted his gaze to the other side of the table, seeing another man dressed just as nice (maybe a little too hipster for Mickey's taste, but whatever) and the down to where their hands and intertwined fingers were resting on the table.

Fuck. Not only was Chris there, but he was on a fucking date.

He wondered if it was too late to run out of the coffee shop and pretend that it never happened. He should move at least, maybe go to the other side of the coffee shop and hideaway in the corner behind Ian. Or, just sit down somewhere and stop staring like a fucking moron.

His brain was short-circuiting at the worst possible moment.

"Mickey?" Chris called out; he was tilting his head and staring right at Mickey. Mickey didn't fail to notice he had also pulled his hand away from the other man.

Mickey cleared his throat and stepped forward, "uh yeah, hey."

"Been awhile, how's it going?" Chris asked, leaning back and resting his hands on the table.

Mickey shrugged, "good."

"Good, that's good." Chris said with a nod and tight smile.

"Coffee for you," Ian stepped up beside Mickey, making a dramatic swing of his arm to hold a cup in front of Mickey. "I told them about fifty sugars should cover it so you might want to stir a bit." Mickey looked up at Ian and could already feel all the tension from seeing Chris dissipating. Ian's big, cocky grin made him laugh as he took the mug.

"Mickey always did like it sweet."

Ian's neck looked like it almost snapped with the speed that he turned to look down at Chris, dryly saying, "That’s the joke. I don't think we've met, I'm Ian."

It was as if Ian's entire mood had shifted the second he heard Chris' voice. Mickey had never seen him so instantly cold to someone, or act that way around anyone actually. Mickey was usually the one frowning and growling at strangers, while Ian would sit down joking and ask them their life story. Ian was standing up a little straighter, his arms crossed even as he introduced himself, and his whole body was visibly tense.

Chris' voice was tentative as he spoke, "I'm Chris."

"And I'm Peter," his date introduced himself with a small wave.

"Are you sure we haven't met?" Chris asked narrowing his eyes and ignoring his date as he examined Ian, "I feel like I've seen you before."

"I don't think so, one of those faces maybe," Ian responded coolly.

Chris crossed his own arms, having some sort of dramatic staring contest stand-off with Ian. Mickey would have laughed at the ridiculous display a few months earlier, maybe felt vindicated that Ian was treating Chris the way he wished he could, but that day he could hardly care about Chris. Mickey looked up and Ian and smiled softly, realizing the sudden bad attitude was on Mickey's behalf.

"You seem pretty hostile for someone who's never met me," Chris commented with a frown.

"Not a people person," Ian snapped, his fist clenching with his words.

Chris turned away from Ian to glance at Mickey and smiled curtly, "he's nice."

Mickey shrugged and grinned up at Ian, "yeah." He nudged Ian gently with his elbow, "you wanna go, or stay here?"

Ian's eyes softened the second he turned to Mickey, "I want whatever you want."

Mickey raised his brow, "this fucking thing again."

"Yeah," Ian nodded sheepishly with a cute little smile that Mickey kind of wanted to take a mental picture of and store away. He was turning into such a fucking sap, though it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would.

"'Aight, let's go." Mickey finally said, giving Chris a quick wave and muttering, "See you around," before walking out of the shop with Ian walking closely beside him.

* * *

Mickey unlocked the door to his apartment and Ian ran inside ahead of him, tearing off his jacket and kicking off his boots as made his way to Mickey's couch. He curled up and wrapping himself tightly in the worn blanket Mickey left on his couch. Mickey snorted loudly and followed Ian to the couch, dropping on the opposite side and stretching his legs out by Ian.

"You're fucking pathetic, man."

Ian pulled the blanket down to expose his face and glared playfully, "it was freezing, I'm half convinced you're cold-blooded."

"Or I'm just not a pussy." Mickey kicked at Ian's feet and laughed as the red head grumbled and stuck out his tongue. Mickey stretched out his arms and breathed in deeply, watching as Ian shuffled around trying to find a comfortable spot, his arms looked like they were still shaking. Mickey shook his head and jumped up from the couch, wandering to his bedroom and coming back a second later with a thick quilt from his bed. He unceremoniously dumped the quilt on Ian and jumped over the back of his couch to get comfortable across from Ian again.

"Thanks, Mick," Ian said as he fixed the quilt to cover his body.

Mickey nodded and started biting at his thumbnail, Ian reached out of the little blanket fort he'd created for himself to put a hand on Mickey's ankle and rubbed the skin there. Mickey kept his eyes down until Ian had picked up the remote and started sifting through channels on the television. He let his eyes drift up to Ian's face and watched him fondly, thinking of the coffee shop and how instantly protective Ian had been.

Mickey frowned and cleared his throat, "okay, so I gotta know. How do you know Chris?"

"Hm?" Ian continued to stare at the television, "we ran into him today."

"You knew who he was though; don't even try to bullshit me about this." Mickey explained sharply and poked at Ian's leg with his foot. "C'mon, how'd you know him?"

Ian dropped the remote onto the couch and let out a long, deep breath. "He came into the bar a few times to talk to Mandy, I don't think he ever noticed me but I knew who he was."

"Mandy's been talking to him?" Mickey snapped, "What the fuck!"

Ian sat up straight and held his hands up, crossing them back and forth, and shaking his head. "No, not really, he used to come into the bar and try to talk to Mandy. He would ask about you, she wouldn't say anything except to go talk to you."

"Oh," Mickey settled back against the couch and frowned, "why didn't you tell me?"

Ian shrugged and looked down, "he just made me mad. He kept coming in and asking about you, then said you didn't deserve to be forgiven. He's just such a fucking asshole, and it pisses me off to even think about." Ian's hand was curling around Mickey's ankle tightly as he spoke, glaring down at the quilt like he had been glaring at Chris' face earlier.

Mickey surprised himself by laughing. Ian tilted his head up carefully and smiled, resuming the soft rubbing on Mickey's ankle.

"He is kind of an asshole," Mickey replied and picked up the remote from where Ian dropped it. "Yo, isn't the first Die Hard supposed to be on this afternoon?"

"Yeah, probably, just check the channel guide."

"Oh fuck you," Mickey grumbled as Ian giggled beside him.

Mickey found the channel a few minutes later; he put the remote down a settled back into the couch. A few minutes into the movie he tried to sneakily pull a corner of the quilt over to cover his legs, Ian didn't miss it and chuckled as Mickey grumbled, "not a fucking word."

They watched the movie quietly, Mickey was warm and cozy under the quilt and Ian's thumb rubbing back and forth was lulling him until he almost drifted off a few times. Mickey loved times like this with Ian, just being able to share a simple and comfortable moment with someone was more than Mickey had ever thought he would have, but Ian being that someone made it better - even if Ian was a determinedly platonic someone.

"How was it?" Ian asked so quietly that Mickey wasn't ever sure he'd actually said something. "I mean, how was seeing Chris again?" Ian corrected himself, speaking a little louder.

Mickey pressed his lips tightly together before exhaling slowly, "it was good, I guess. Fuck, I don't really know"

"You weren't sad?" Ian looked nervous, his hands twitching and his eyes wide.

Mickey bit down on his lower lip and shook his head, "no, I didn't even fucking really pay attention to him, especially after you came over looking all grumpy and jealous."

Ian laughed and focused on his twitching hands, too focused on the conversation to comment on Mickey's teasing. "So it was good... with me there?"

"Yeah, Ian, it was good with you there." Mickey answered, cursing himself because this stupid nervous red head was turning him so soft and he couldn't even dislike it. Ian looked up at Mickey, his smile growing wide and threatening to overtake his face. Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes, "fuck off, stop looking so happy." Mickey grunted and turned to the television, trying his damnedest not to smile back.

"Stop saying cute stuff then," Ian teased and squeezed Mickey's ankle, then pursed her lips, "on second thought, maybe don't-" Ian was cut off by his phone ringing, he pulled it out of his pocket, wrinkling his forehead at the unexpected call. "Shit!" He hissed and jumped up off the couch answering the phone, "hey, yeah, be right there. Sorry."

Mickey grunted at the sudden upheaval and stood, following Ian to the door where he was rushing to slip on his boots and jacket. "Everything good?"

Ian nodded quickly, "it was just Jeremy, I'm late for work." He shot Mickey a half-grin as he stood up properly, zipping up his jacket, "too caught up hanging out with you, I guess."

Mickey rolled his eyes dramatically and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall by the door. "What _ever_ , it's your dumbass that should have been paying attention to the clock."

"That's what I'm saying," Ian answered and pulled open the door swiftly, "too busy paying attention to you though. See ya, Mick."

And with that he was out the door and Mickey was left leaning against the wall in his empty apartment. He stood there for a couple minutes, unsure of what he was going to do for the rest of the day. He had planned to spend the rest of the day with Ian (they hadn't officially agreed on that, so he guessed that was his fault for assuming shit) and now he was thrown for a complete loop as to what he would do.

Mickey pushed away from the wall, slowly shuffling back to the living room where he could hear Die Hard still playing, when the front door slammed open again.

"What the fuck?!" Mickey cried out and turned around, but froze when he saw Ian standing there; out of breathe and clutching the doorknob.

Ian breathed heavily but his gaze was determinedly fixed on Mickey. "I've got to ask you something, and I don't know if later or tomorrow I'm still going to have the guts to do it." He let go of the doorknob, stepping forward slowly, "and don't interrupt me because I just ran back up five flights of stairs, and I'm late for work, and I've just got to say it in one go, okay?"

Mickey gave a quick, short nod - still shocked from seeing Ian barge through his door so suddenly.

Ian took a long, deep, shaky breath and starting speaking. "I've wanted to do this forever, pretty much since I first met you but I knew that it wasn't right then and maybe it isn't right yet but I can't help it. You're just something else Mickey and I can't stop thinking about you, which I made pretty clear last night and I just think you deserve someone to treat you better than Chris did, because, fuck, you're just really fucking great, Mickey. I want to take you out on date, and we can do normal things that we always do. You don't have to hold my hand or even fucking touch me, we'll just go for dinner maybe and it'll just be regular shit we always do. No pressure to end up anywhere or end up doing anything, just us hanging out but calling it a date."

Mickey was sure he looked like an idiot, practically paralyzed a few steps away from the door, slack-jawed and staring at Ian.

Ian ran a hand through his hair and looked down at the ground, "shit; now I'm rambling. I sound fucking crazy, shit, I'm sorry. I can go, I should go." He pointed over his shoulder at the door, shuffling his feet, and started to turn away.

Mickey squeaked embarrassingly and shook his head quickly, "no, or yeah."

Ian looked back at Mickey and tilted his head quizzically, "What does that mean?"

"I mean, yeah, let's go on a date."

A smile over took Ian's face, starting on one side and traveling to the other side. It was one of those perfect, addicting smiles that made Mickey's heart flutter like a teenager with his first crush.

"Okay, I'll text you," Ian said and spun around, almost skipping towards the door as he walked. He turned and shot Mickey a bright smile one last time before closing the door once again. Mickey looked down and kicked out one leg, swinging it back and forth as he stood. His mind was fuzzy and his cheeks were starting to hurt from the ridiculous grin he was sporting, but he couldn't help it.

Yeah, Mickey had fallen hard.


	9. nine.

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!"

Mickey had never regretted opening his door so much. Mandy skipped past him into his apartment, still screeching out her annoying little chant and reminding Mickey of her dumb roommate’s high-pitched squeals (they were a decidedly bad influence on her).

"Mandy, shut the fuck up," Mickey growled and slammed his door shut. Mandy shook her head and stuck her tongue out, leaving Mickey to roll his eyes and walk back to his bedroom where Mandy unfortunately followed him like the nosy bitch she was. "So, he told you then?" Mickey asked, even though the answer couldn't have been clearer.

Mandy plopped down on to Mickey's bed, "Yup!"

"I'm gonna kill him."

"No you won't," Mandy grinned mischievously taking up a singsong tune as she spoke, "you're going to date him, and hug him, and kiss him, and fuck him."

Mickey shot a tired glare at her, "You want to stop talking about me and Ian fucking, please?"

"I hear he's really good in bed," Mandy responded, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable Mickey was feeling.

Mickey frowned and walked to his closet, sifting through the shirts and jeans hung up there. He mentally told himself he didn't care, it wasn't a big deal, and he wasn't jealous at least three times before finally caving and asking; "who'd you hear that from?"

"Aaron might have mentioned it one time when he was waiting around for Ian," Mandy answered.

"Is he, uh, still fucking around with Ian?" Mickey asked, trying to keeping his tone casual.

Mandy laughed and clapped her hands together loudly, "You are jealous!"

Mickey turned to face Mandy, snarling, "I'm going on a fucking date with him, Mandy. Jesus, is it such a fucking shock that maybe I like the guy?" Mickey let out a long deep breath and dropped down to sit on his mattress beside Mandy.

"He hasn't done anything with Aaron in months," Mandy said and nudged Mickey's arm with her sharp elbows, Mickey grimaced and pulled away making Mandy giggle. "Pussy," she teased and fell back to lay down and stare at the ceiling. "He really likes you, you know," Mandy's voice was much quieter as she spoke, "and I know things with Chris were hard but just don't screw him over."

Mickey picked at his quilt, watching as a thread he'd been idly pulling at came loose and tugged at it until it the thread snapped. He had been expecting this talk from Mandy ever since Ian had asked him out. She knew as much as Mickey did about Ian's past, she knew his fears about being used and she knew how long it'd been since Ian went out on a limb for someone. Mickey felt a little defensive that Mandy would think Mickey could do that to Ian, that for some reason he didn't already know how special Ian was. He breathed in deeply, reminding himself that Mandy just cared, that she was worried they were jumping into this too quickly.

Most of what pissed him off was that he couldn't even be mad at her for it because deep down he was worried too. He wasn't sure how long it normally took to move on from a three year relationship but he had a sneaking suspicion it was longer than three and a half months. The thing was, he felt like he had moved on - completely. Seeing Chris the other day had been a shock but beyond that he had no lingering feelings about the encounter. It wasn't enough to stop him from being worried though; there was still a nagging feeling in his chest that he was somehow going to end up hurting Ian.

Mickey didn't really know what to say to Mandy, didn't know if he could promise to never hurt Ian, so instead he settled for a short nod. Mandy seemed to accept the response and sat up again.

"So what are you going to wear?"

Mickey groaned, "I've got no fucking clue."

Mandy whooped and jumped up from the bed, rushing to Mickey's closet. "Get over here shithead; we've only got four hours to get this right."

Mickey narrowed his eyes, _only four hours?_ Jesus Christ, sometimes he hated his sister.

* * *

Mickey tapped his foot nervously on the ground, glancing at the clock on the stove every few seconds and groaning. It was still another twenty minutes before Ian was supposed to be coming by his apartment, fuck, he wasn't handling the waiting well.

Mandy wandered back into the kitchen and jumped up onto one of the counters. "So, Jenna and Tessa and Kylie are all bitching at each other because of boys know and I'm just sitting around single as fuck and trying to tell them all that boys are not worth this hassle."

Mickey snorted and looked away from the stove, he had only half-paid attention to Mandy's story over the past few hours and he couldn't really remember what guy all her roommates were fighting over, or if they were just having their own individual struggles with boys, or whatever it was.

"Still doing the 'eat pray love' single thing, huh?"

Mandy nodded and flipped her hair proudly, "I'm finding myself and my individuality."

Mickey snickered and kicked at her swinging legs, "you're an independent woman."

"You bet your ass I am," Mandy kicked back at Mickey, giggling and jumping down from the counter as the play fighting escalated to poking and tickling. "Fuck off," Mandy yelled out as she ran into the living room, "Your dates going to walk in and see you acting like a two year old!"

"Bitch, he'd think this is hilarious." Mickey called back as he ran behind her, stopping behind the couch in a standoff as Mandy stood on the other side of the couch.

Mandy laughed and shook her head, "Or he'll see that you're being a dick to your little sister and turn right around."

"Yeah, you really look like you're upset with all that giggling you're doing."

"Assface."

"Douchebag."

"You guys are too nice to each other."

Mickey spun around at the new voice, nearly slipping on the hardwood floor and swinging his arms out embarrassingly to keep balance. He cleared his throat and waved meekly, "hey, I didn't hear you come in."

Ian had that stupidly endearing cocky grin and his arms crossed over his chest, "yeah, I figured that out."

Mandy laughed and ran around the couch, kicking Mickey's leg one more time before running behind Ian and sticking her tongue out. "Hey Ian," Mandy greeted him, holding onto his arm and smiling up at him. "You look hot. You know, you didn't have to put that much effort in for Mickey, you could've shown up wearing a garbage bag and he'd still go out with you."

Ian smiled shyly and shrugged, glancing over to meet Mickey's eyes, "I kind of like putting in an effort for him."

Mandy looked over at Mickey as well, looking like she was one step away from squealing and clapping her hands again. Mickey leveled her with a harsh glare and shook his head as discreetly as he could manage. Mandy snorted and rolled her eyes, as if Mickey was being a drama queen by requesting his sister not act like a total fucking idiot around the guy he's going on a date with. 

"Alright, I'm out of here," Mandy said while giving Ian a quick one armed hug and waving at Mickey. She grabbed her jacket, throwing it on as she walked to the door and calling behind her, "Don't forget to wear a condom, safety first boys!" And with that the door opened and closed, leaving Ian and Mickey in his apartment alone.

Mickey rubbed at his eyes and groaned, "Fucking Mandy."

Ian laughed loudly, "It just means she cares." Mickey eyebrows shot up at the comment as he gave Ian an incredulous stare, Ian just laughed again at the look and shrugged, "Or maybe she's trying to piss you off."

"Fucking right," Mickey replied sharply. He leaned back against the couch, taking a moment to admire that Ian had actually dressed up. His hair was slicked back expertly, his clothes were a little nicer than usual, and Mickey was pretty sure he could smell cologne. Mandy wasn't wrong, he did look pretty fucking hot and Mickey could feel a flutter in his chest thinking that Ian had done it all to impress him.

"So, are you ready to go?" Ian asked, interrupting Mickey's thoughts.

Mickey gave a quick nod and pushed away from the couch. "Yeah, let's fucking do this."

Ian grinned widely at Mickey, his eyes sparkling like there were stars in them, as he followed Mickey out the door.

* * *

"I could've paid for my own fucking ticket," Mickey grumbled as he and Ian stepped away from the counter. Mickey was holding a jumbo sized popcorn and Ian walked beside him carrying two equally large Coca-Cola's.

Ian sighed and smiled down at Mickey, "except then it wouldn't be a date."

"No," Mickey argued adamantly, "it's a fucking date as long as we call it a fucking date. Don't need to be wasting money on each other for that."

Ian snickered as he set the two soda's down on the counter and grabbed straws. "Alright, then maybe I just feel like wasting my money on you." He smiled smugly and softly nudged Mickey's foot with his own, "gotta spoil you so that you say yes to a second date."

Mickey shifted his gaze to the ground, feeling the heat of a blush on his neck and cheeks. How Ian could make comments like that so casually would never fail to surprise and confuse Mickey.  
  
Ian seemed to sense Mickey's awkwardness and stepped away from the counter. "We should get seats," he said and Mickey followed silently behind.  
  
They had their tickets torn and made their way to one of the larger theaters. They were seeing some popular action movie Ian had been excited about. Mickey never kept up with upcoming movies; he rarely had the time or the money to watch something in a theater and therefore never bothered to pay much attention. Ian had sworn he would like this movie though so Mickey figured he could probably trust the red head's opinion. The place was mostly empty, only a few people sitting in rows near the front. Ian quickly made his way to the back row, nearly taking two steps at a time as he went and walking down the row to settle near the middle. Mickey rolled his eyes and followed, smirking as he slumped into the seat beside Ian.

"Taking me to the back row, huh? That's pretty fucking cliché."

Ian grinned and hummed as he grabbed a handful of popcorn, "damn, you've figured me out."

Mickey snickered and took a long sip of his drink, "you're such a fucking dork."

The previews started not long after they settled into their seats, the movie was clearly less popular than Ian had made it out to be if the less than ten people in the theater where anything to go by (making Mickey wonder if this really was Ian's attempt to just make out like teenagers in the back of the theater). The movie started with a loud explosion, fast cars and guns, it was fairly standard as far as action movies went but Mickey didn't dislike it so he figured that Ian made a decent choice.

It was about an hour into the movie that Mickey saw Ian's arm resting on his leg, close to Mickey and relaxed. Mickey wondered how long he'd been sitting like that, if he had been wanting to make a move but too nervous to do anything or if Mickey was just reading too far into the placement of a hand. Mickey turned his attention back to the movie, chewing on the inside of his cheek and trying not to think about Ian's fucking hand. He had never been one to make public displays of affection, unless he was drunk as fuck and in the dark secluded corner of a gay club. It wasn't that he was ashamed of being gay, he'd mostly moved on from that at this point in his life, but he still didn't like the idea of having his private life on display - nobody needed to know his shit.

"Are you okay?" Ian whispered in his ear, Mickey turned to see him leaned over with his eyebrows drawn together in concern. Mickey gave him a short nod and half-smile, which seemed to do nothing to comfort Ian.

"Is this freaking you out?" Ian asked, "Because we can leave. I meant it when I said no pressure."

Mickey shook his head quickly, "I'm good, watch your movie."

Ian seemed to debate for a few seconds before turning back to the screen with a frown. Mickey flexed his fingers and sucked on his teeth, watching Ian's worried expression and inwardly cursing at himself. What the fuck was his problem? It's not like Ian was forcing him to hold his hand, or freaking out that Mickey wasn't affectionate enough, he was just sitting there and trying to enjoy the movie. Ian didn't need Mickey to be draped over him or to be clinging off Mickey's arm, all he wanted was to spend time with Mickey and take him on a fucking date.

Mickey kept his eyes trained on the screen, forcing himself not to look as he quickly reached over and placed his hand on top of Ian's. He felt as Ian parted his fingers, letting Mickey's drop into the empty spaces and twine them, Mickey curled his fingers gripping at Ian's fingers and saw the red head grinning in his peripheral. It wasn't until Ian had turned back to the screen that Mickey allowed himself to look. He watched Ian first, taking in his soft smile and bright eyes looking so fucking happy that Mickey had made such a small gesture, before dropping his gaze to their joined hands. He liked how it looked, seeing Ian's fingers tangled with his own, how they didn't fit perfectly but somehow it felt right. Mickey tightened his grip and looked back at the movie.

He wasn't sure what made him decide to do it, other than a snap decision that he really fucking wanted to, but he was glad. Holding Ian's hand kind of felt like something he should have been doing all along.

An hour later the credits rolled and the lights turned on, Mickey squeezed Ian's hand one last time before pulling his away. Ian grinned over at Mickey, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his back.

"What'd you think?"

"Not bad," Mickey answered as he discreetly eyed a patch of skin where Ian's shirt had ridden up. Fucking Ian had to look delectable doing the simplest things.

Ian huffed out a laugh and nodded, "yeah, I liked it." He stood up and looked down at Mickey, "ready for part two?"

Mickey cocked an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. "There's a part two?"

Ian grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets, "yep, and a part three, and maybe a part four."

"Jesus Christ, how long is this thing?"

Ian chuckled, stepping over Mickey's stretched out legs as he started walking down the aisle and called out, "you don't have to come if you don't want to."

Mickey watched as Ian walked, laughing at the purposefully slow saunter as he made his way down the steps. Mickey snorted and pushed up from his seat, jogging down and shoving Ian roughly once he caught up.

"I knew you would follow me," Ian said smugly as he smirked down at Mickey.

Mickey flipped him off with a smile and snickered as Ian burst out laughing.

* * *

It was fucking cold outside, Mickey had spent the last fifteen minutes wondering exactly where Ian was leading him and barely resisting the urge to wrap himself up in Ian's as they walked. The winter had taken longer to hit than usual, but when it hit, _it hit._ Mickey had never been a fan of extreme temperatures - too hot or too cold - but he had to admit that even with the freezing weather it was a nice walk. They were in the Loop now; the lights from the buildings and streetlights were shining bright like stars, there was a thick layer of snow on the ground, and Ian was bundled up beside him looking about as adorable as anyone could look.

There was a silver lining to the dreary weather, Mickey decided.

They rounded one more corner and Mickey snickered at the sight. "Seriously Ian? This date is so fucking cliché."

"Get used to it," Ian said as his pace sped up. "Now, hurry up, we're cutting it close before they won't let anyone up."

Mickey rushed to keep up with Ian (the guys legs were miles long, so it was a fucking challenge) and rolled his eyes. He didn't know how he didn't guess earlier that part two was the Sears Tower. It was a pretty typical spot to bring a date, maybe a little fancy for a couple kids out of Canaryville but still something so predictably Ian that Mickey should have seen it coming.

"You know we're going to be in line for fucking ever," Mickey commented as they finally reached the building, Ian holding open the door gallantly for Mickey.

Ian grinned and followed Mickey into the building, throwing his arm over Mickey's shoulder as he sidled up beside him, "as long as I'm waiting with you, babe."

Mickey rolled his eyes and followed as Ian directed him to the line, pulling tickets out of his pocket that he had clearly bought earlier. Mickey clicked his tongue and eyed the tickets; sneaky bastard kept paying for all this shit, Mickey was starting to feel like a leech.

The wait was shorter than Mickey expected, or maybe it was long and he just didn't notice. Ian had been a great distraction as it turned out, his arm remaining draped over Mickey's shoulders the whole time as he rambled about the first time he ever came to the Sears Tower with Lip and Fiona. Apparently they had saved up for months when they were just kid, scamming for money since they were all too young to have jobs. When they went up Ian spent as long as he could standing on the ledge, it had been his favorite part. Mickey could almost see a little Ian, covered from head to toes in freckles with hands plastered to the glass as he stared out at the city and the streets below.

They were beckoned forward into the elevator and Ian dropped his arm, rushing into the elevator with a giddy smile. Mickey laughed and shook his head, "You sure this part was for me?"

Ian shrugged sheepishly, earning another laugh from Mickey as the elevator started moving up. The elevator moved quickly but it still took a little while before finally they reached the 103rd floor. As soon as the doors opened Ian rushed out, making a beeline for the ledge. Mickey walked behind him, admiring the excitement on Ian's face and shining in his eyes. He settled to lean against the wall, watching as Ian took his first steps onto the glass floor and grinning as he became more confident in his security. He was switching between staring at the street below, or out at the Chicago skyline.

Fuck, he looked so beautiful; Mickey would be content to just watch him all night.

Mickey smiled softly, as Ian turned to him with a wide grin. "Mick, c'mere," He called out and waved his hand. Mickey stepped away from the wall, walking over to Ian and at the edge right before the floor became glass. Ian walked up to him and held out his hand. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

Mickey looked up to see Ian's big cocky smile and defiantly ignored Ian's hand, stepping on to the glass beside Ian and taking a deep breath as he looked down. It was a lot higher than he remember, though he hadn't gone onto the ledge the last time he had been there.

Ian walked up to the glass wall, Mickey carefully followed and admired the view - it was pretty spectacular. He looked back to Ian, admiring his wide eyes and gentle curve of his lips.

"You like here, huh?"

Ian breathed in deeply and nodded, "it's one of my favorite places in the city."

"So, you brought me here?"

Ian turned his head to look at Mickey and smiled, "yeah, just kind of wanted to be here with you."

Well fuck, Mickey was pretty sure his heart was about to burst.

* * *

Part three turned out to be back at the White Swallow. Ian explained that he had wanted to bring Mickey somewhere different, probably that didn't have all the elements of a strip club included with the drinks and dance floor, but that he figured Mickey would probably appreciate the ability to skip over the line and cover charge more than anything else. Mickey had simply grinned, telling Ian to 'stop over-thinking shit' and walked inside.

They made their way to the second floor, walking up a spiral staircase to a booth with a reserved sign propped on top of the table.

Mickey groaned and looked over at Ian, "you kidding me? Did you have to pay for this?"

Ian moved to stand in front Mickey and crossed his arms, "no, it was just a favor; now stop worrying about my money."

Mickey breathed deeply and nodded reluctantly, moving past Ian and sliding into the booth. He looked up at Ian, raising his eyebrows and waving a hand at the spot beside him, grunting, "sit the fuck down."

Ian grinned brightly and nodded, moving to sit beside Mickey and pausing. "Wait, fuck, I'm gonna grab drinks first." He spun around and glanced at the bar, "Whiskey, right?"

He was rushing off before Mickey could even respond. Mickey chuckled and watched as Ian shimmied his way through the crowd, making his way to the upstairs bar and ordering some drinks, will joking smoothly with the bartender. Mickey was consistently in awe with Ian's ability to be so awkward and adorable one moment, then suave and sexy the next. Ian was easily the most complicated and most endearing person Mickey had ever met, probably that he ever would meet. Mickey was falling into a comfortable warm feeling as he watched Ian, knowing that he could sit there all night just watching Ian laughing and bobbing his head to the beat of the music.

Ian looked over at Mickey and quirked an eyebrow, sticking out his tongue and making a weird face. Mickey snorted and nodded to where the bartender had stopped in front of him with the drinks. Ian smiled confidently when he saw the odd look, leaving no explanation as he traded the drinks for a few bills and walked straight over to Mickey.

"Well, I guess I got made fun of by a bartender for you," Ian commented as he slid into the seat, still smiling and laughing. Mickey shrugged, and took a sip of his drink, watching as Ian settled beside him, brushing his fingers along Mickey's thigh briefly before moving to rest his arms on the table. He was staring out at the dance floor below, bobbing his head again, eyes drooping as moved and his lips curl into a soft smile at the words.  
  
Mickey moved without thinking for the second time that night, placing a hand behind Ian's neck and surging forward to slot his lips with Ian's. Ian made a small surprised noise and the unexpected action, before parting his lips and moving a hand around Mickey's waist to draw him closer. Kissing Ian was unlike anything else; the soft, steady pressure against his lips sending shivers up Mickey's spine and drawing him in. He let out a low groan and moved his other hand to Ian's hair, scratching at his scalp and sucking on his tongue. One proper kiss and Mickey was already an addict, wanting to taste nothing but Ian ever again.

Ian pulled away, breathing heavily and kissing Mickey's chastely twice.

"What was that for?" He whispered, watching Mickey in awe.

Mickey moved his thumb to run it over Ian's lower lip, his voice equally quiet as he spoke, "just wanted to, we're on a date right?"

"Yeah," Ian said smiling crookedly like he was in a daze. "Yeah, we are."

Mickey swallowed and dropped his hand, "you wanna dance?" He asked with a click of his tongue.

Ian's expression didn't change, his eyes never moving from Mickey's face as he shook his head. "No," he answered.

"You sure? You're the one who actually likes to fucking dance so"-

"I want to move on to part four." Ian interrupted, "part four of our date."

Mickey frowned, they had only been at the club for about twenty minutes and it seemed a bit rushed to be moving on that quickly. "You’re really sure?" Mickey asked and huffed as Ian nodded before he could even finish speaking. "A'ight, what's part four then?"

Ian leaned forward, moving one hand to rub against Mickey's thigh as he whispered in Mickey's ear. "Want to come back to my place?"

Shit. Fuck. _Yes_.

Mickey had never nodded so quickly in his life.

* * *

Ian was practically bounding up the stairs to his apartment with Mickey trailing behind, both of them laughing breathlessly as the whole stairwell echoed of their heavy footsteps. The whole night felt surreal to Mickey, he felt too light and too happy, the whole night felt so natural and easy that he was almost sure something had to go wrong. Yet here he was, falling into step behind a beautiful boy and watching him laugh freely.

They reached Ian's floor after only a few minutes, Ian turned to face Mickey breathing heavily and grinning. "You coming?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, deliberately slowing his pace as he walked towards Ian. "You don't even have your door unlocked yet, what's the fucking rush there?"

Ian grinned slyly, reaching out to grab Mickey's arms once he was close enough, spinning him around and pinning him against the door. "Wanna do this first," he murmured before moving to press his lips down against Mickey's. It was deeper than the kiss at the club, more passionate and everything was more electric. Ian's hands moved down Mickey's arms, making their way down to join with both of Mickey's hands. He swiftly lifted them to hold up against the door, framing Mickey's face as his tongue explored the brunet's mouth.

"Not that I don't love this," Mickey groaned into Ian's mouth. "But this all could be a shit ton better behind this fucking door."

Ian hummed and released one of Mickey's hands and pulling out his keys, intermittently kissing Mickey as he clumsily unlocked the door. Ian turned the handle, opening the door and sending both men stumbling through the door on unsteady feet.

"Sorry," Ian winced at the awkward move, "I'm usually a lot more put together than this."

Mickey snickered and hooked a finger through one of Ian's belt loops. "You're such a dork."

Ian leaned down resting his forehead against Mickey's and smiling, "is at least endearingly dorky?"

"Yeah, let's call it that."

Ian laughed lowly and drew Mickey back in for a long kiss, licking at Mickey's lips and wrapping his arms around the brunet's waist to pull him in closer.

"Bedroom," Mickey stated, pulling back from Ian and making his way ahead of the red head. He opened the door and walked into the room, pulling his shirt over his head and turning around.  
  
Ian was on him in a second, pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. He ran his hands against Mickey's sides and let out a pleased groan. He moved to suck at Mickey's neck, licking at biting at the sensitive skin there as he lowered his hips to grind his crotch against Mickey's. Mickey gasped and moaned at the sensation, moving his hips to meet Ian's pace as he could feel his cock quickly hardening.

Mickey grabbed at Ian's shoulder's flipping them over so Mickey was resting on top of Ian. "Get your fucking clothes off," he grunted and stood up, zipping his jeans and pulling them off with his boxers in one movement. He stood back, wetting his lips as he watched Ian make quick work of pulling off his many layers. When Ian finally pulled his boxer briefs off, Mickey had to pause because, fuck, Ian naked was on a whole new level he didn't know how to deal with.

"Jesus, Mickey," Ian muttered, his eyes traveling over Mickey's body. His voice was filled with a primal growl as he spoke, "get the fuck down here."

Mickey dropped down on Ian's lap, rolling his hips and making their hard cocks rubbing together. Ian let out a breathy moan against Mickey's throat, stuttering his words as he spoke, "can I...Jesus...I want to fuck you so bad."

"Fucking do it," Mickey grunted and bit down on his lower lip, he was painfully hard and he needed Ian inside him ten minutes ago - actually, probably three months ago.

Ian nodded and Mickey rolled off him, assuming position on his hands and knees as Ian grabbed lube from his bed stand. He was back behind Mickey quickly, his cock leaking against Mickey's leg as he ran a lubed up finger around Mickey's rim. He made a deep pleased sound as he pushed a single digit inside. "You're so tight," Ian whispered, quirking his finger earning a gasp from Mickey at the movement. "Shit, Mick," he hummed, leaning forward to pepper Mickey's back and neck with wet kisses.

Mickey felt amazing, Ian slipped a second finger in Mickey moving both inside him steadily - twisting and stretching him out. His entire body was tingling and he was sure if he just reached down and started jerking himself that he could come in a second. He was moaning and writhing beneath the redheads ministrations, it was already the best sex he'd had and Ian wasn't even inside him yet. Ian seemed to sense Mickey was ready, pulling out his fingers and grabbing a condom from his bedside table. He quickly rolled the condom on, giving his cock a few quick jerks before he moved to press it against Mickey's rim. Ian dropped a few short kisses on Mickey's shoulder blades, and pushed in. Mickey groaned and dropped his head, loving the mix of pain and pleasure as Ian eased inside until his hips were flush against Mickey. He stilled and waited, breathing heavily and gripping at Mickey's hips tightly.

"Ian, move," Mickey gasped.

Ian breathed in deeply and nodded, "just one second, fuck Mick, you feel so good." He let out one last breath and then drew back almost completely before slamming back to the hilt roughly. Mickey whimpered loudly, arching his back as Ian set the rough pace.

Ian felt better than anything, his hands and his lips caressing every inch of Mickey's skin, and his cock filling Mickey up like nothing had before. Cuddling with Ian and holding hands with Ian had been imperfectly perfect, but kissing him - fucking him - was just perfect. The way Ian moved and touched Mickey was like he already knew how to make him completely unravel.

Ian bit down on Mickey's shoulder and gasped, "Want to see your face, want you to ride me."  
  
Mickey nodded quickly, waiting for Ian to pull out and lay back on the bed before straddling him and sinking back down on his cock, groaning as he bottomed out once again.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." Ian breathed the words and gasped as he arched his back. Fuck, he looked so fucking sexy. His lips were parted as he panted, and his fingers rubbed up and down Mickey's thighs with each rock of Mickey's hips. Mickey bit down on his lower lip as Ian moved his legs to begin thrusting up into Mickey with skilled precision.

"Mick," Ian moved his hands up Mickey's chest, tweaking his nipples and earning a gasp from the brunet. Ian wrapped one hand behind Mickey's neck and drew him down into a long kiss. "You feel so fucking good - fucking perfect."

Mickey could feel the familiar pressure building up, Ian moved in and out faster, both of them breathing and gasping heavily into the others mouth. Mickey reached down, wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking it in time with Ian's thrust.

"I'm gonna come," Ian grunted, resting his head back and allowing Mickey to move to kiss and bite at his throat. "Oh fuck, please tell me your close."

"I'm close," Mickey murmured into Ian's skin. Ian wrapped his hand around Mickey's hand, forcing him to stroke his cock faster. "Just give me a couple, fuck, almost there."

Ian was able to thrust in three more times before he came, clinging to Mickey and throwing his head back as his cock pulsed. Mickey spilled over Ian's hand a second later, moaning and twitching through his own orgasm, and barely listening as Ian whispered, "you're incredible, Mick."


	10. ten.

Mickey woke up in the morning feeling the heavy weight of an arm on him. He blinked open his eyes and saw Ian draped over his chest, head resting over his heart and his arm across his stomach. Mickey smiled as he thought about the night before, how absolutely incredible it was that Ian was finally here with him, covered in loose sheets and tightly wrapped around Mickey, after so months of wishing that his stupid fucking crush could actually become a reality.

Ian snuffled in his sleep, rubbing his nose on Mickey’s chest in a strangely adorable way. Mickey looked around the room, noticing the soft glow of the sun from behind Ian’s blinds. He wondered how long they had actually managed to sleep. The night was mostly a euphoric blur of sweat and sex, the two men having spent most of the night waking up periodically to bring each other to climax. Mickey was so blissed out and relaxed that he was almost sure it couldn’t be real because he had never felt so good.

Ian mumbled unintelligibly, seeming to slowly be waking from his slumber. Mickey snickered and reached his hand up, combing it through Ian’s short locks of hair. Fuck, he looked so beautiful; eyes closed and lips parted his steady breaths tickling Mickey’s skin.

“What was that Mumbles?” Mickey teased.

Ian moaned and moved, burying his face in the nook between Mickey’s neck and shoulder. “You smell good,” he repeated his words clearer.

“That’s not fucking likely,” Mickey snorted, “I’ve been rolling around with you for the past eight hours. I probably fucking stink.”

Mickey felt Ian’s lips curving into a smile. “I like your fucking stink,” Ian responded and pressed three light kisses against Mickey’s neck.

Ian shifted to move his leg in-between Mickey’s, letting the brunet feel his hard cock rubbing against his leg. Mickey groaned lowly as Ian began to circle his hips slowly, mouthing wetly at Mickey’s neck and humming happily against his hot flesh. Mickey wrapped his free hand around Ian’s waist, flexing his fingers against Ian’s lower back and feeling the solid muscles there.

“How do you even have any juice left in you?” Mickey breathed deeply.

“You inspire me,” Ian muttered.

Ian moved slowly, still in his lazy post-sleep haze, but the steady pressure he was putting on Mickey’s groin was more than enough to make the blood rush down to Mickey’s dick, making him hard within seconds.

Ian chuckled lowly and nipped at Mickey’s jawline, “looks like I inspire you too.”

Ian shifted again, moving to leave a trail of kisses down the brunet’s neck and chest, pausing to suckle at his nipple, circling it with his tongue and bringing it to a peak, drawing a breathy gasp out of Mickey before continuing down. Ian stopped when he reached a hipbone, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there, making a small red and purple mouth shaped bruise. Mickey’s cock was solid and leaking, arousal burning in the pit of his stomach as he ran his hands over Ian’s shoulder and through his hair. He was one step away from begging Ian for some type of touch or release, but found he didn't need to when Ian suddenly moved to press his lips against the base of Mickey’s dick. He parted his lips, his tongue darting out to make small circles as he moved up the shaft. Mickey let out a sharp gasp when Ian reached the tip, parting his lips even further to take the spongy head in his mouth sucking carefully and licking at the slit with his tongue

“Oh fuck, Ian,” Mickey whimpered before he could remember to stop himself. He felt Ian smile around his cock before dropping to take Mickey’s cock in his mouth, making up for the short fall with his hand.

Ian sped up his movements, settling into a quick pace and breathing heavily through his nose. Mickey could barely hold it together, Ian’s mouth felt amazing and his hands ran over Mickey’s body softly as if he were something rare and precious.

“Jesus, Ian,” Mickey choked on his words and gasped as Ian suddenly moved to take Mickey’s cock fully, deep-throating him and moaning around Mickey’s shaft. Mickey’s eyes flew open and he stared down at Ian, seeing the red head was watching his every move intently with pupils blown wide from lust.

Ian held Mickey’s gaze as he drew his mouth back up Mickey’s cock, continuing his fast pace from before and dropping to take him fully at random intervals. Mickey started to thrust up, fucking Ian’s mouth as he lost himself to the intimate moment. It didn’t take much longer before Mickey was crying out and coming in hot spurts down Ian’s throat, Ian sucked down every last drop and swallowed it before pulling off.

Mickey reached forward grabbing Ian by his shoulders and flipping him onto his back before he could say a word. He pulled the red head into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his body trapped between Mickey’s thighs as he straddled him. Mickey grabbed Ian’s cock, jerking it hurriedly and licking into Ian’s mouth. Ian moaned and hissed, only lasting a minute longer until Mickey twisted his wrist one last time and Ian was done.

“Fuck me,” Ian breathed into Mickey’s mouth as his orgasm washed over him.

Mickey grinned and bit down on Ian’s lip playfully, “maybe later Hotshot.”

Ian blinked open his eyes, looking as dazed and sated as Mickey felt. “Alright,” he answered and brushed a hand over Mickey’s back. “I could stay here and do this with you all day.”

_I could stay here and do this with you forever._ The thought hit Mickey so suddenly that he was startled by it. He frowned, unsure if it was just post-sex clingy haze or something else, and honestly a little worried that he knew which it was. Ian seemed to notice the serious expression on Mickey’s face, drawing him out of his thoughts as he ran his fingers along Mickey’s face.

Mickey smiled, kissing Ian chastely once more before rolling off him and onto the other half of Ian’s bed. “Can’t,” he said, letting a long sigh, “gotta work today.”

Ian rolled onto his side and pouted, he reached out letting his fingers trace the planes of Mickey’s chest. “Just quit and stay here with me. I’ll pay all your bills, you can be my kept boy.”

Mickey snorted and turned on his side to mirror Ian, “now I know you’re full of shit. Can barely afford your own shit, never mind my shit.”

Ian laughed and shrugged, “worth a shot.”

Mickey smiled (something that was starting to seem like a permanent fixture on his face) as he watched Ian close his eyes once more and hum happily. He felt warm and happy, and so fucking lucky that somehow ended up with Ian lying next to him.

Mickey reluctantly sat up, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looked around on the floor, picking up his discarded clothing from the night before and putting it back on. Ian was frowning and watching him get dressed. All the sheets were now kicked off the bed and Ian was sprawled out on his front, completely naked and looking so delicious.

“Fuck, man, why you gotta look like that?” Mickey groaned as he slipped his shirt over his head.

Ian was sporting his cocky grin as he stretched out, arching his back and lifting his ass as if he were presenting it to Mickey. He rolled over and flopped back, giving Mickey an eyeful of his large, half-full cock. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian answered innocently, rubbing a hand over his chest.

Mickey shook his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek and he watched Ian, feeling his own dick starting to get interested. “You’re a fucking dick,” Mickey murmured and made his way back to the bed. Ian moved swiftly, getting onto his knees at the edge of the mattress and pulling Mickey’s body flush against his, drawing him into a searing kiss.

“I just want to spend all day making you feel good,” Ian whispered as he ran his tongue along Mickey’s lower lip. “How’s that bad thing?”

Fuck, Mickey was rock solid again and Ian’s sultry voice was doing nothing to help the situation.

Mickey putting his hands on Ian’s hips, rubbing at the soft skin over sharp hipbones and gripping him tightly. “Because right now you’re just being a tease.”

Ian huffed and rolled his eyes, kissing Mickey again, “yeah, okay.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed but made no move to leave from the embrace, his eyes scanning over Ian’s face – memorizing every single freckle and angle. He leaned forward, kissing Ian slowly and sweetly, falling into the intimacy once again. When they drew apart Ian kept his eyes closed, leaning his forehead against Mickey’s and breathing in.

“Please tell me we can do this again, I really fucking want to keep doing this with you.” Ian’s voice was quiet and shaky as he spoke.

“The dating thing?” Mickey asked, his voice just as quiet.

“Yeah, the dating thing, or the fucking around thing if you don’t want to do that dating thing, or literally anything that means I can hold you and kiss you actually. I just don’t think I could go back to not having this after tonight.”

“That all I am to you, Firecrotch?” Mickey teased, “Someone to hug and kiss?”

Ian’s eyes flew up, looking startled and worried, “What? No, you’re not just that. Fuck, Mickey, you’re… I…”

Mickey cut Ian off with a short kiss and chuckled, “Relax, I’m just shitting you.” Ian let out a sigh of relief, almost making Mickey feel bad for teasing him in the first place. _Almost_. “Let’s do the dating thing, I wanna do that.”

The smile on Ian’s face was one of the most beautiful things Mickey had ever seen.

Mickey squeezed at Ian’s sides one last time before stepping away and slipping on his shoes. “Alright, text me later.” He said as he walked backwards to Ian’s bedroom door, “also, Mandy is going to be on the rampage harassing you about last night so watch out. She’s fucking ruthless when she wants to be.”

“That’s true, I’ll probably just cave and tell her everything.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and Ian’s teasing smirk and turned around, “such a fucking dick.” He muttered and stepped out the door.

* * *

**[2 Missed Calls, 5 New Text Messages]**

Mickey rolled his eyes, briefly confirming his assumption that all of the phone calls were from Mandy. He chuckled to himself as he trudged down the street, pulling his scarf up a little higher hoping to block the bite from the wind.

**[Mandy 10:43am]  
** _sooooooooo……..??????_

**[Mandy 11:27am]**   
_srsly mick hows last nite? is he rly good in bed?_

**[Mandy 1:14pm]**   
_r u ignoring me??? cuz u kno i can just ask ian_

**[Mandy 2:15pm]**   
_u have 2 tell me miiiiick im not guna stop textin u_

**[Mandy 2:42pm]**   
_miiiiiiiickeeeeeeey_

Mickey scowled and the persistence of his sister. Most of the time he admired that she was so determined to get her way - not caring what anyone thought of her and always getting results – but when it came to butting into his personal life Mickey had less admiration for her.

He was debating what he could possibly tell Mandy when two more texts were received, this time (thankfully) from Ian.

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 5:17pm]**   
_hope you had a good day at work! also Mandy stopped in at the bar and I might have started talking about you and last night and how good it was and now she is definitely going to call you and might show up at your place if you don’t answer_

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender 5:17pm]**   
_turns out I am a fucking dick ;)_

Mickey couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed with Ian, he was already too fucking lost on the guy, that much was becoming increasingly evident to Mickey. He laughed and quickly typed out a response as he reached the bus stop.

**[Mickey 5:19pm]**   
_u just gotta make it up 2 me later_

He contemplated adding one of the dorky winking face Ian was so fond of using but in the end couldn’t quite stomach the idea of doing something so cheesy. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, or see the response that Ian was typing, because Mandy was calling almost immediately.

“Fucking what?” Mickey answered the phone call gruffly.

Mandy snorted loudly, _“So now you answer my phone calls.”_

“I was working, bitch.”

_“Whatever.”_ Mandy’s hostile voice quickly morphed into a lighter tone, _“so, how was the date?”_

“You already asked Ian, why the fuck do you need me to tell you?” Mickey frowned, “And I’m not telling you shit about his dick so you can give that up now.”

Mandy squealed loudly, _“so you guys did fuck!”_

Mickey groaned and dropped down onto the bench in the small bus shelter. “You seriously telling me he didn’t mention that?”

_“Nope,”_ Mandy answered, _“told me all about where you went, what you did, and then some very mentally scaring imagery about how great your ass looked in those jeans.”_

Mickey snickered as Mandy made a disgruntled noise at the memory. “He told you less than I thought,” Mickey said and clicked his tongue, “I’m a little impressed.”

_“Oh, well he did tell me one more thing.”_

Mickey furrowed his brow and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing the phone closely to his ear. “What did he say?” Mickey prompted after a long gap of silence.

Mandy hummed and laughed, _“Somebody’s nervous. Don’t stress, Mick, all he said was how much he liked you and that you guys are doing the dating thing.”_

Mickey grunted in agreeance, refusing the give Mandy more than that.

_“So, does that mean you two are like boyfriends now, or are you just seeing each other?”_

Mickey ran a hand over his face and let out a long sigh. “Fuck Mands, I don’t know, boyfriends? Maybe?” He could hear the beginnings of another high pitched cheer and growled, “Jesus Christ, don’t fucking do it Mandy.”

Mandy cheered anyways, completely ignoring Mickey’s protests. _“This is the best news, I’m so happy for you, Mick.”_

Mickey rolled his eyes and looked up to see the bus rounding the corner. “Yeah, yeah. Look the bus is coming so I gotta go.”

_“Fine, just remember not to screw this up, okay?”_ Mandy voice was firm, _“Ian is really amazing and you both deserve something really great.”_

“I remember, you don’t need to give me the same fucking speech every day I see him.” Mickey answered with a frown.

_“Just making sure you know.”_

Mickey rolled his eyes and ended the call as the bus doors swung open. He dropped into a seat near the front and pulled his scarf loose on his neck. As if he needed a reminder about how incredible Ian was, and how likely it was for Mickey to make some sort of huge mistake. He cared about Ian, a lot more than he cared about pretty much everyone, and that terrified him. He had a tendency to push people away before they got too close, make them hate him so he doesn’t need to be vulnerable.

It’s what he did to Chris, and he had been so sure he loved Chris.

He spent the rest of the bus ride wondering if maybe he should just call the whole thing off, tell Ian that he just wanted to stay friends and never having to worry about losing him. He even took out his phone, mentally preparing himself to type out the unfortunate message. He stared at bright blank message screen for a long time before finally sending Ian a text.

**[Mickey 5:57pm]**   
_u wanna come over 2nite_

Because even though he was almost positive that he would fuck up and ruin things he couldn’t help himself, because much like Ian had said earlier; he couldn’t go back to not being to hold Ian, or kiss him, or feel the contours of his body. Ian had given him those perfect moments of intimacy, and Mickey couldn’t go back to not having that.

**[Sexy Firecrotch Bartender** **6:01pm]**  
 _YES and please tell me that tonight means right now_

**[Mickey 6:01pm]**   
_yup now get ur ass to my place_

There was that one stupid line about love and loss everyone was always talking about; better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

If he had to, Mickey figured he could probably handle that.


	11. eleven.

Mickey grinned as he walked past Parkway Diner and looked in the window to see Ian sitting at a table and reading over one of the shitty paper menus. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his lips were pursed tightly together, he was probably once again debating whether he should move away from the breakfast items and actually order something off the regular lunch and dinner menu. It was a common debate Ian would have with himself when they would eat at Parkway's, though every time Ian would give up and order off the breakfast menu. 

As much as Mickey rolled his eyes at Ian and complained about how there's no use in even thinking about, he found the whole thing endearing and he couldn't help himself from finding Ian's squishy face of concentration incredibly cute.

He walked in the door - still momentarily put off by the lame and outdated decor - and absently pulled off his scarf as he walked to the table Ian was at, dropping into the seat opposite to him.

"You've had the Beef Melt, right? Is it any good?" 

"Yeah, hi to you too, Jackass," Mickey grumbled and unzipped his bulky jacket.

Ian looked up from the menu and smiled sweetly at Mickey, like just looking at Mickey had made his day a thousand times better. Or at least, Mickey hoped that's what Ian's smile meant because when Mickey smiled in return, it's what he meant.

"Hi," Ian said and reached out to squeeze Mickey's hand on the table briefly before returning once again to his menu dilemma. "So, the Beef Melt?"

Mickey snorted and shrugged, "Yeah it's good, just like everything here is good."

"Okay, but is it good enough to replace bacon and eggs and waffles?" Ian's eyes were wide, emphasizing how serious he was about the matter.

Mickey held back a laugh and leaned forward on the table, taking a sip of the coffee Ian must have ordered for him. "Nothing is better than waffles, man."

Ian nodded and folded up the menu, sliding it to the edge of the table. "Waffles it is."

Mickey snickered and reached out to grab Ian's hand again, the small touch from earlier not being enough to satisfy him, and tangled their fingers. Ian had a soft look when Mickey turned his gaze up to meet his eyes.

"How's your day?" Ian asked as he rubbed the soft pad of his thumb back and forth over Mickey's.

Mickey let out a deep sigh and rubbed his free hand over his face, "fucking exhausting.”

“Too much work, or too little?”

Winter was the slow season at his work, most days being spent dragging easy work on to last at least six hours. Mickey hated those days the most, grasping at even the slightest bit of work so he could ignore his jackass co-workers talking about all the pussy they got on the weekend. Unfortunately the only days that weren’t painfully slow happened to be days where everything needed to be done immediately, cramming a weeks’ worth of work into one shift. Winter just really sucked at his job.

“Too much,” Mickey answered with a wave of his hand as if pointing out the option in the air. “And that fucker - Jack, or John, or whatever-the-fuck - I was telling you about the other day, he keeps playing some teenage girl pop shit on the radio.”

Ian smirked, “It’s a hard life you’re living.”

Mickey scowled playful, “Oh yeah? You can keep your sarcasm to yourself, shithead. What time you work at today? Fucking two in the afternoon?”

Ian propped his arm on the table, leaning his head against a fist and looking so fucking adorable. “About three,” Ian answered and laughed loudly when Mickey glared at him.

“I’m gonna fucking smack you one of these days,” Mickey teased, clicking his tongue and leaning forward on the table.

“No, you won’t,” Ian answered confidently, having some sort of blind faith in Mickey’s ability to resist violence. Mickey felt a warmth spreading through his chest, it wasn’t usual that someone trusted Mickey in that way, and even if it was an offhanded comment that he doubted Ian would ever think of again, Mickey found it incredibly sweet.

Mickey’s expression turned soft, all evidence of teasing fading away. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Ian seemed to sense the shift in the mood and lifted Mickey’s hand to kiss his knuckles quickly. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.”

* * *

If Mickey had known Ian scared so easily he probably wouldn't have suggested watching the Blair Witch Project (even though Mickey didn't actually think it was scary). Ian had managed to wiggle his way in behind Mickey, wrapped his arms tightly around Mickey's waist and tangled his legs with Mickey's. Mickey had grumbled at Ian about being more of pussy than Mandy but had settled easily into Ian's warm embrace. It was cozy, and even though being mostly pinned down was annoying for when he wanted to grab some popcorn or take a sip of his beer; Mickey found that he didn't mind.

There was a rustle, the girl screamed and the camera shook. Ian immediately turned away from the screen, clutching at Mickey tighter as he buried his face in the crook of Mickey's neck.

"Tell me when it's over," Ian mumbled against Mickey's skin, his words barely understandable.

Mickey snickered and rubbed a hand up and down Ian's thigh soothingly, "Yeah, alright, tough guy."

Ian pressed a quick kiss to Mickey's neck and tilted his head up to look at Mickey, still facing away from the screen. "I feel like you're making fun of me."

"That's because I am making fun of you." Mickey answered, moving his eyes from the screen to look down at Ian.

Ian frowned, watching Mickey for a short moment before leaning forward to press a wet open mouth kiss on Mickey's jaw. Ian's arms loosened as he moved to trail one hand under Mickey's shirt and the other over his sweatpants and along his inner thigh. The tips of Ian's fingers barely touched Mickey, leaving him tingling and aching for more. Ian continued to move his mouth along Mickey's jaw, Mickey closed his eyes and leaned into the feeling as he muttered and breathy "Fuck."

Ian paused as he finally reached Mickey's mouth, his breath ghosting over Mickey's lips as his hands continued to make the gentle patterns. Mickey could feel his dick filling and fattening, pressing against the soft fabric of his sweatpants. Ian had a talent for foreplay that left Mickey a complete mess.

"You're a dick," Ian whispered. He swiftly jabbed at Mickey's side, giggling like a child as he pulled his hands away and leaned back against the couch.

Mickey groaned loudly and sat up properly, spinning around and straddling Ian. He grabbed Ian's wrist, pining them down and rolling his hips. Ian's mouth dropped open at the sudden pressure against his cock, his eyes hooded as he watched Mickey's slow but sure movements.

Mickey leaned down and licked a small circle below Ian's ear. "Fuck, Ian, that little tease got you hard, huh?"

Ian hissed and nodded, tilting his head up to expose more of his neck which Mickey happily took advantage of. He slowly dragged his mouth and nose along the expanse, loving the smell and feel of Ian so close to him. Mickey bit down once he reached to column of Ian's throat, Ian whined and keened as Mickey sucked and nibbled, grinding down faster and more roughly. He pulled back once he was satisfied with the glaring red mark he'd made and smirked down when he saw Ian's wrecked expression.

Mickey leaned down once again to rest his forehead against Ian's, mimicking Ian's move from earlier and keeping his lips close enough to Ian's that they could so easily be pressed together.

"That was a dirty fucking trick," Mickey murmured.

Ian's opened his eyes and hummed, "emphasis on the dirty." He moved quickly to catch Mickey's lower lip between his teeth and dragged him down into a sloppy kiss, more teeth and saliva than anything else. 

Mickey groaned and dropped Ian's hands, too caught up in the moment to care about their fucked up pissing contest anymore. He wanted to touch Ian, wanted to pull his hair and scratch at his back, and fuck teasing because it just wasn't worth it.

Ian immediately grabbed Mickey's hips, pulling him in tightly and rolling them both off the couch until Ian was sprawled over top of Mickey and making quick work at tugging off Mickey's sweatpants.

"Gave up on teasing, huh, Mick?" Ian joked coyly and groaned as he saw Mickey had forgone wearing any boxers. "Fuck. That is so hot."

"Shut the fuck up and get the fuck in me," Mickey growled.

Ian smirked and licked his lips, reaching down to fist Mickey's cock, keeping at a painfully slow pace as his hand moved. "Your dirty talk could use some work."

Mickey gasped as Ian twisted his wrist, running his thumb over the slit and collecting the pre-come there, swirling it around the head. "Your fucking could use some work," Mickey bit back, moaning and shivering under Ian's touch.

Ian chuckled and sucked on Mickey's earlobe, "Mm, you do seem like you're having terrible time."

Mickey grabbed the back of Ian's neck, drawing him up into a heated kiss. He licked in Ian's mouth, moaning when Ian reciprocated - fuck his tongue was out of the fucking world. Mickey stealthily slipped a hand into Ian's pocket, grabbing the small bottle of lube that seemed to be a permanent fixture there and promptly shoved Ian off him.

Ian threw out his hands to catch himself breathing heavily and sitting in the space between Mickey's ankles. Mickey took a moment to admire Ian, his lips bitten and red, the red-ish purple hickey that was blooming on his neck, and his wide, confused eyes still brimming with lust and want.

Fuck, all Mickey could think of was fucking Ian until he was an incoherent mess.

Mickey lifted the bottle of lube to show Ian what he had swiped and grinned cockily. "Tired of your teasing, Gallagher," he popped open the cap and squeezed some of the lube onto his fingers. "Wanted you to fuck me, but since you're being such a fucking cock tease..." He let his sentence trail off as brought his finger down to circle around the rim of his tight hole. Ian watched his fingers, transfixed on the circular motion and gasping when Mickey pushed one digit inside.

"Jesus Christ."

Mickey grinned and twisted his finger, hissing when he added a second finger and eased them both in just past the second knuckle. Mickey moaned loudly, mostly for show but partly because the initial burn had given way to pleasure. Ian was finally snapped into the moment at the sound, shucking away all of his clothing with record speed.

Ian dropped his hands to the ground, crawling over to Mickey's body but was stopped when Mickey lifted a leg, putting his foot on Ian's shoulder and holding him back.

"Missed you chance," Mickey gasped, twisting and scissors his fingers, "Should've fucked me when I told you to. Ah, fuck," he hissed as his fingers grazed his prostate, a shudder of pleasure hitting him.

Ian let out a long whine, "C'mon Mick, you can't fucking do this to me." He reached up to Mickey's ankle and scratched desperately at his skin, his pupil's were blown wide to the point that Mickey could barely see a sliver of green at the rim.

Mickey shook his head and bit down on his bottom lip, "you started this."

Ian growled and dug his nails in, "fuck, I'll do anything you want." His voice growing deep and scratchy, sounding absolutely ruined. "I need to touch you."

Mickey had intended to string him along, but fuck, listening to him plead and seeing that predatory gaze was making him itch and burn for something more. “Anything, huh?” Mickey joked, hoping to hide how desperate he was for Ian.

Ian nodded, reaching down to jerk at his cock as he met Mickey’s eyes, “anything.”

Mickey eyed Ian’s cock hungrily. Before he had first seen Ian naked he had always assumed that he was packing (the time Ian had wandered around his apartment in boxer briefs really hadn’t left much to imagine), but seeing Ian’s dick was something else. Mickey loved dick, he’d known that his entire life, and he especially loved _big fucking cocks_ and Ian had one of the biggest he’d ever seen. Just seeing the thing was enough to get him hard – no foreplay necessary.

There was so much Mickey wanted to do with Ian, wanted to do with that fucking dick. Fuck, if Ian had said ‘anything’ any other time… but Mickey’s pride was on the line.

“Say I win then.” 

Ian blinked and furrowed his brow, laughing and raising an eyebrow, “I tell you I’ll do anything you want. _Anything._ And all you want is an ego boost.”

Mickey grinned lavishly and crooked his fingers to graze against his prostate again. “Fuck yeah, and you better say it fast or I’m gonna come without you.” Mickey threatened and used his free hand to start tugging at his dick.

Ian shook his head and forcefully moved Mickey’s foot from his shoulder, resting himself on his hands and knees over-top Mickey and running his eyes over the length of Mickey’s body. He grabbed at the bottom of Mickey’s shirt, pulling it off slowly and dropping a line of kisses along Mickey’s chest. He gently pried Mickey’s hands away and pinned them over his head, still silently admiring Mickey. Mickey should have cared, but he was too far gone in the moment – too caught up in Ian to give a shit.

Mickey arched his back as Ian used his free hand to circle at Mickey’s loosened hole, threatening to push in at any moment. Ian smirked and hummed, “You win, Mick.”

Without warning Ian was pushing three fingers past Mickey’s rim, stretching him and relentlessly massaging his prostate. Mickey mewled and pressed up against Ian, tearing his arms away from where Ian had them held down and clawing at Ian’s back. Stupid little noises fell out of his mouth with ease, he wouldn’t even be able to hold them back if he had wanted to.

"Condom," Mickey muttered, blindly reaching around for Ian’s jeans pocket. Ian pulled back from Mickey, breathing heavily as he grabbed the discarded piece of clothing and pulled out a condom. He made quick work of tearing open the wrapper and sliding it on.

Ian settled over Mickey again, wide eyes brimming with lust. "You ready?"

Mickey snorted and grabbed the back of Ian’s neck, dragging him down until they were skin to skin, “You seriously asking me that right now?”

Ian smiled prettily and kissed Mickey, “Right, sorry.” 

Mickey smiled back, drawn out of the heated moment for a second to admire, once again, how fucking sweet Ian Gallagher was. The train of thought was quickly replaced by a string of curse words as he felt Ian’s swollen cock pushing inside him. Mickey was burning with pleasure as Ian started to move agonizingly slow, letting Mickey feel every inch of him as he drew in and out. Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian, tightening his thighs until almost every inch of their skin was touching. Mickey’s head dropped back as Ian pace steadily picked up. Mickey dragged his nails over Ian’s back and through his hair, pulling at it as Ian whimpered softly.

Mickey was burning all over, Ian’s cock pressing and rubbing against his prostate every time Ian thrust in. Mickey’s dick was leaking as he gasped and moaned, writhing under Ian’s brutal assault. Ian propped himself up on his knees, hooking his arms under Mickey’s knees and lifting him up. Ian continued to pound into Mickey, picking up speed and watching as his cock pulled out and pushed in to Mickey.

“Shit. So fucking hot,” Ian breathed and his lower lip dropping.

And fuck, Mickey couldn’t agree more, because seeing the Adonis that was Ian Gallagher glistening in sweat and moaning as he fucked Mickey thoroughly was the sexiest thing Mickey had ever seen.

“Fuck, c’mere,” Mickey reached out a hand, desperate to touch Ian again. Ian nodded and dropped down, draping himself over Mickey again.

Ian’s thrusts picked up speed and lost rhythm, his lips pressed against Mickey’s, tongues and teeth mashing as they both gasped and moaned in pleasure. The prolonged foreplay had gotten both of them so keyed up that it was clear it wouldn’t last much longer. Ian pulled at Mickey’s cock roughly, whispering nonsense words Mickey could barely hear.

Mickey’s orgasm hit him suddenly, shuddering through his body and shooting out in hot spurts over his chest and stomach. Ian moved to grip at Mickey’s thighs changing the angle and chasing after his own release. Ian gasped loudly and spasmed, continuing to fuck Mickey as he came before letting out one drawn out moan and dropping on top of Mickey.

They stayed like that for a long moment, pressed together on the grubby floor of Mickey’s apartment. Mickey carded his fingers through Ian’s hair while the ending of the Blair Witch Project played in the background.

“You’re such a dork,” Ian mumbled against Mickey’s chest.

Mickey laughed and shrugged, “you’re just saying that ‘cause you fucking lost.”

Ian looked up at Mickey, propping his chin up on Mickey’s chest and shooting him with his classic toothy smile (Mickey was such a sucker for it, he was pretty sure it was the whole reason he fell for Ian in the first place).

“Yeah, maybe.” Ian carefully pulled out of Mickey, kissing him quickly before standing up and saying, “Though if that’s losing, I wouldn’t mind losing more often.”

Mickey watched Ian walk to the bathroom, admiring his naked body from behind until he shut the door to the bathroom. He dropped his head back and sprawled out on the floor. The girl in the movie was screaming but all Mickey could think about was Ian’s smile and how fucking lucky he felt _._

* * *

No one was meant to be up at five thirty in the morning on a Saturday. Mickey was pretty sure it was a day of rest, or maybe that was Sunday, but either way he was positive that no one woke up this early on weekends except for his nutcase of a boyfriend.

“It’s been nice knowing you, Ian,” Mickey wheezed and gasped, bending over and clutching at his stomach. “Pretty sure this is how I go.”

Ian rolled his eyes and jogged back over to where Mickey was two seconds from collapsing on the ground. Mickey looked up at Ian and noticed how cool and collected he looked, where Mickey was a sweating red-faced disaster. He wondered if maybe this was a sign he should quit smoking.

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Ian poked fun and laughed. “Quick break, maybe?”

Mickey swallowed harshly and took another sharp breath. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

Ian directed Mickey to a nearby bench situated at the edge of a park that was probably pretty close to his apartment but Mickey had no idea where they were. The short run had sucked all the life out of him, and along with it, any sense of direction.

“You’re pretty cute like this,” Ian said and brushed a strand of loose hair from Mickey’s face. “I should con you into jogging with me more often.”

Mickey scowled and swatted at Ian’s hand. “Not fucking likely.”

Ian laughed loudly and casually draped an arm around Mickey’s shoulder. Ian did little things like that a lot, Mickey had started to notice. He knew that showing affection came easily to Ian; holding hands, hugging, and kissing goodbye. Mickey was normally against that type of thing, preferring to keep any definitive evidence of a relationship locked behind closed doors. As usual, Ian shook everything up. Ever since Ian grabbed his hand while waiting in line at the grocery store Mickey had fallen into Ian’s world of PDA and found he kind of liked it.

Holding Ian’s hand meant people knew Ian was with him, and something about that made Mickey’s heart fucking soar.

Ian fished out his phone and opened the camera app, Mickey watching him warily. “What you doing?” Mickey asked, frowning as Ian lifted his phone in front of them both.

“Well,” Ian began, “I figure you said this isn’t happening again, so I have to document the one time it does.”

Mickey snorted and looked quizzically at the camera, “’Aight, let’s get this over with.”

Ian grinned and pressed in closely to Mickey. Mickey kept a frown on his face, determined not to take some cheesy couples photo with Ian. He kind of liked the PDA but Mickey still had his limits. He waited for Ian to take the photo, keeping his face as straight as possible until Ian was pressing a kiss to his cheek and he smiled.

“Got it!” Ian said triumphantly and pulled his phone back. He looked at the picture, his cocky grin fading into something softer as he stared at it. Mickey leaned over and peered at the photo. Ian had his eyes close and lips pressed to Mickey’s cheek, and Mickey had a large smile, his eyes trained away from the camera and focused on Ian.

“You have a really great smile,” Ian said looking up from his phone and back at Mickey.

Mickey snorted and shoved at Ian’s arm. Yeah, he looked decent in that photo but it was a rare fucking occasion that happened. “Fuck off, man.”

Ian shook his head and put his arm back around Mickey’s shoulders, leaning his head on top of Mickey’s, “Nope, never."

Mickey closed his eyes, leaning into Ian and breathing in deeply. His heart was returning to a normal pace and his head had mostly stopped throbbing. He felt Ian shifting beside him and opened one eye, peaking at where Ian was playing around on his phone.

"What are you doing?" Mickey grumbled.

Ian chuckled and rubbed his hand up and down Mickey's arm, "Uploading the picture to Instagram."

Mickey breathed in deeply and closed his eyes again, suddenly feeling very tired. "Why?" His words came out a little slurred and drowsy.

"Because I like it; you look good and I want to show you off," Ian answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Mickey let the warm feeling from Ian's word wash over him, burying himself in closer and sighing happily. Usually he would argue that Ian was being a sap but he was sleepy and pliant, so he simply murmured, "'Aight."

Ian laughed lightly and pressed a chaste kiss to the top of Mickey's head. "For someone who wakes up at five all week you'd think it'd be easy to get up early on the weekend."

Mickey hummed and shook his head sleepily, "didn't get my beauty sleep."

Ian laughed once again, and squeezed Mickey's shoulder. "Alright, Princess, let's get you back to bed." He stood up, pulling Mickey up along with him starting that walk home with Mickey drowsily cling to his side.

* * *

Hanging out with Mandy and Ian at Murphy's had become a staple of Mickey's life. Ian had an opposite schedule to him nearly every week day, Mickey would get off work at three when Ian was just starting work, it had been irritating at first but Mickey had started heading over to the pub after his shift and it had stopped being such an annoyance. They still had most weekends together, and the odd Tuesday once or twice a month that Ian didn't work.

Plus, Mickey liked being able to hang out and chat with Ian and Mandy.

They would joke about stupid stuff most of the time. Ian and Mandy would tell him stories about weird patrons they had the night before, or how Ian would pretend to be Mandy's overly protective boyfriend when creepy guys hit on Mandy (Mickey didn't love that, but he figured as long as Ian was looking out for his little sister and Mandy kept her hands to herself, he could tolerate it). Sometimes Ian would say something sappy and lame, forcing Mickey and Mandy to gang up against him, teasing him ruthlessly about being such a softie. But the best part was that Ian would always make time to just smile and talk to Mickey, squeezing his hand or kissing him quickly when Mandy was busy serving drinks.

"'Aight," Mickey exhaled loudly and rapped on the bar counter with his knuckles, "I gotta head out." Ian pouted while Mandy rolled her eyes, both gestures equally over-the-top and dramatic. Mickey snorted at the sight, "Yeah, yeah. Shut the fuck up."

"It's barely ten, Mick, how fucking old are you?" Mandy teased, whipping the towel she was using to wipe the counters at Mickey's arm.

"Ancient," Mickey answered dryly, "and waking up at five in the fucking morning."

Mandy snorted, muttering, "Fucking old man."

Mickey ignored her and pushed away from the counter, hoping off his stool as Ian rounded the bar to stand by him. Mickey rolled his eyes playfully as Ian bent down to wrap an arm around Mickey's waist. "The fuck you doing?" Mickey's voice was light as he spoke, unable to hold back a smile and gently pushing at Ian's chest.

Ian hummed and pressed a soft kiss to Mickey's cheek, "Just saying goodbye."

"Most people just say bye."

Ian pulled Mickey in tighter against him and nodded, rubbing his nose against Mickey's cheek like a skewed version of an Eskimo kiss. "Yeah, they probably do." He finally pressed his lips against Mickey's in a brief but toe curling kiss before drawing away completely. Mickey smiled up at him, a little dazed, as he usually was after a kiss from Ian. Somehow the cheesy redhead just had that effect on him.

Mickey watched as Ian circled back around the counter where Mandy was standing with her arms crossed and an amused expression. Mickey scratched the back of his neck, trying to ignore the fact that Mandy had just seen him actually being affectionate.

"So, you just want to come over after you’re done?" Mickey asked, leaning against the bar and keeping his gaze strictly on Ian.

Ian shrugged and moved to stand in front of Mickey, "I don't want to wake you up if you're working early."

"Nah man, it's fine, I'm a deep sleeper."

Ian laughed and shook his head, "Liar."

"Fuck you," Mickey joked and pushed back from the bar. "Just come over, alright? You still got that key?"

"Of course," Ian said and smiled brightly. That fucking smile, it made Mickey wanted to jump over the bar and kiss him again. He quickly remembered Mandy's presence as she laughed lowly at their exchange. He hurriedly backed away, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

"He has a key to your place already? You two are so fucking domestic."

Ian laughed as Mickey muttered something about it just being for convenience and flipping Mandy off. Mandy just rolled her eyes once again and flicked water from a glass at Mickey.

"Whatever you say, Mick," Mandy said sarcastically and turned away from him, "Now get the fuck out of here, we have real work to do."

Mickey scowled at his sister and turned away, giving Ian a quick wave before walking out of the bar and into the biting cold. He pulled his scarf up tightly, and buried his hands in his pockets. Despite the cold he kept his pace slow as he made his way back to his apartment, his mind reeling from Mandy's words.

When he gave Ian a key to his apartment he hadn't thought much of it. It had been a day, like any other day, Mickey was heading to work and Ian looked so tired after having been up most of the night and he just sort of gave him a key. It's not like he had it made specifically for Ian, it had actually been Chris' key that had been sitting one of the kitchen cupboards and collecting dust. Mickey really didn't think of it as a relationship changing step forward, but merely a natural progression out of convenience for both their sleep schedules.

He wondered if Ian thought more of it. He had given Mickey a key to his place a week later, so maybe it did mean more after all.

Mickey smiled against the scratchy wool of his scarf, getting the tingly warm feeling he usually did when thinking about Ian. It was strange to think about how quickly their relationship was progressing since their first date - not that they had really talked about being exclusive or anything but Mickey figured that's exactly where they were at. Ian was nearly always with him, hanging out all the time and spending each night wrapped in each other’s arms. In fact, the only time they spent apart was when Mickey was at work, or heading home to sleep like he was doing now.

And Mickey loved it, he loved that his life was completely centered around this one incredible person that he just couldn't get enough of. He loved making Ian breakfast and how his face lit up when Mickey brought him coffee in the morning. He loved Ian's gross morning breath and the fact that he was the temperature of the sun at night. He loved the lame jokes and the spontaneous kiss and hugs. Fuck, he just really loved Ian.

Mickey was so distracted by his sudden realization that he barely noticed his name being called out.

"Mickey!"

Mickey stood up straighter, looking up from where he had been watching his feet kick at the snow with each step, and spun around. Mickey quirked his head, confused and a little surprised to see Chris waving with a big smile and jogging to catch up to him.

"Hey," Mickey said cautiously and started walking again once Chris caught up.

Chris smiled, his cheeks bright red from the cold. He never did wear a scarf, found it too suffocating; Mickey had always thought he was just being stupid. "How's it going?" Chris asked, slowing to walk beside Mickey.

Mickey shrugged, "Not bad, you?"

"Good, good." Chris answered gruffly and rubbed his hands together. Mickey bit back a laugh seeing that he also hadn't worn gloves. He really didn't miss having to share winter clothes with Chris.

Chris took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, taking one out for himself and offering one to Mickey. Mickey happily plucked one out, aware that his own pack only had two left and eager for any free cigarettes he could get his hands on. Chris lit both cigarettes with ease, Mickey had spent so many years doing this exact thing with Chris that it was almost automatic to fall into step.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you get a new place on the North Side or some shit?” Mickey raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue.

Chris chuckled, “Keeping tabs on me, huh?”

“Saw the invite Mandy got for your fucking housewarming party,” Mickey snapped, leveling Chris with a glare.

Chris looked down at his feet and scratched the back of his neck, “I know, yeah, that was dick move.” He glanced over at Mickey and frowned, “been doing that a lot lately.”

Mickey sucked on his teeth, wary of the tense moment and what Chris might be implying. He looked away and cleared his throat loudly, “so, you still seeing what's-his-fucking-name?" He exhaled slowly; keeping his eyes glued to the smoke as it billowed out and disappear.

"Peter," Chris corrected with a laugh and shook his head. "He was nothing, just someone to fuck around with for awhile, you know."

Mickey shrugged, "sure."

"Are you still with _Ian_?" Chris teased with a cock of his eyebrow and smirk.

"Yep," Mickey answered quickly, looking up at Chris and smirking when he saw Chris' cocky expression drop.

Chris tapped his cigarette, letting the ashes at the end fall to the ground. "Really? How's that going?" He asked bitterly, his cheerful tone from before having faded completely.

"Just gave him a key to my place actually," Mickey said, enjoying how Chris' face continued to fall, "he's pretty fucking amazing."

Chris stopped and shuffled on spot, looking away from Mickey awkwardly and nodded. "Great, that's great, really fucking great for you." He let out a deep breath and dropped his half finished cigarette to the ground. "Look, Mick, I gotta run. Nice seeing you."

Mickey raised his eyebrows and snorted as Chris quickly spun around and walked back where they had just come from. Mickey shook his head and continued on his way, thinking about how quickly Chris had crumbled when he talked about Ian, and the way it felt somewhat satisfying to see him actually hurt.

Because, honestly, if Chris was feeling like shit, it was his own damn fault.


	12. twelve.

Mandy had been Mickey's saving grace and then she had to go fuck it up, leaving Mickey to nervously accompany Ian to Christmas at the Gallagher household.

Christmas had never been a very big deal to Mickey growing up. No one in his family really celebrated the holiday, mostly because his parents never gave a shit, but also because it just wasn’t something they did. Mandy had gotten into the holiday a little bit after she started school, making little dumb gifts for Mickey and their other brothers. Mickey had started buying or stealing her a little dumb gift in return and it became somewhat of their first and only Christmas tradition. But beyond the small gift exchange and maybe hanging out for a couple hours in the evening, Christmas was wildly underwhelming to both Mickey and Mandy.

Ian’s family was the completely opposite. To the Gallagher’s, any holiday was just an excuse for a new family bonding extravaganza. Mickey had successfully avoided Ian’s older sister’s birthday party a couple weeks earlier, but when Mandy announced she would be going to Florida with one of her roommates for Christmas, Mickey was left high and dry with no excuses as to why he couldn’t go to a Gallagher Christmas event.

Mickey really fucking hated Mandy sometimes.

Well, he really disliked her decision to abandon him over the holidays, at least.

It wasn’t that Mickey disliked Ian’s siblings and he definitely wanted to spend the holiday with Ian. It was just that the idea of spending a full night and day surrounding by a minimum of six people - all of which needed to actually like him or at least tolerate him - was a little overwhelming. It didn’t help that the only time Mickey had met any of Ian’s family was at Ian’s birthday party, and he was pretty sure he spent most of that night just glaring at the back of Aaron’s stupid head.

To say he was nervous was an understatement.

Ian chattered away for most of the trip to the south side, allowing Mickey to give himself short pep talks about how meeting your boyfriends family and spending the holidays with them isn’t that big of a deal (even though it really fucking is). They only had to switch trains once before Mickey saw the shoddy streets of Canaryville. It was a bit strange being back in his old neighborhood, it’d been years since he had considered coming around and even then it was only because of Mandy. He’d always figured the years of terrible memories and abuse were enough to destroy any small amount of nostalgia he felt about the place. Yet, as the El came to a halt at Mickey’s old stop he wondered if his old house was still there, or if maybe someone had torn it down by now. Mickey shook the thought from his head; that wasn’t a path he wanted to go down.

Ian and Mickey got off at the next stop.

Mickey had never thought too much about it before, but it was strange that he had never met Ian or any of his siblings when he lived in the neighbourhood. He knew the street they were walking down, fuck, he used to deal to at least three house on his damn block. Maybe it was because Mickey flunked out of school early on, or that he spent most of his teen years playing out the role of the perfect son for his dad – or what Terry considered to be the perfect son, at least.

Thinking about the little Terry clone he had been it made Mickey a little glad Ian had never seen that side of him. If he was a fucking mess now, he was a disaster of epic proportions before. Withdrawn didn’t even beginning to describe how emotional fucked he had been. Ian deserved better than who he was before.

“You ready?”

Mickey blinked and did a quick scan of his surroundings. He noted the older building in front of him, deeper than it was wide, with a flat roof and shoddily patched cracks in the foundation. It looked a lot like every other house in the neighborhood, if Mickey was being honest, but the way Ian stared at the house made it seem special – like a home.

Mickey supposed that was pretty fucking special.

Mickey shrugged and kicked out one of his feet. The trip had been shorter than he expected and he was still pretty damn nervous, so no, he really wasn’t ready yet.

“’Course I am,” Mickey said under his breath, as if Ian was being a dumbass and not completely reading Mickey’s mind.

Ian grinned and swung his arm over Mickey’s shoulders, pulling him tightly against Ian’s side and kissing his brow. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

Mickey huffed and let himself lean against Ian, slipping his own arm around Ian’s waist and enjoying the small moment of peace before walking through the door and spending the next forty eight hours under intense scrutiny from his weirdly close-knit family (though he supposed he saw Mandy nearly every day so maybe he wasn’t one to talk).

“No, you won’t.”

Ian hummed and nodded. “They’ll love you though, I know it.”

Mickey wasn’t betting on it, but fuck it, Ian wanted him there and when it came down to it that’s what really mattered. As long as Ian liked him, everything else was fine. Mickey breathed out deeply and lightly pushed Ian off him, he stepped through the gate and looked back at Ian expectantly with raised eyebrows.

Ian laughed and walked past him, nearly skipping up the steps and swinging open the front door. Mickey heard the loud cheers before he even passed through the threshold. He shut the door once he was inside, watching as Ian walked into the living room and was embraced by two people with a small black kid rushing over and clinging to his leg. Mickey chewed on his lower lip and tried his best to decipher each of their names. He knew Liam was the kid from all the stories Ian had told him and recognized Debbie easily (the red hair was a damn give away) and he remembered Carl from the night at the bar, which left Fiona and Lip standing by the couch waiting for their turn to hug Ian.

Maybe he would do okay after all.

Once the group hug broke apart Ian swooped down and lifted Liam up into his arms, “Jesus, you’re getting big.”

“ _Ian!_ ” Liam squealed and giggled as Ian spun around and kissed his cheek. Ian laughed loudly, putting Liam back on the ground and sticking on his tongue when Liam lightly smacked his stomach.

Ian looked over at Mickey, his smile so huge that it left Mickey wondering if he was going to pull a muscle or something.

“You guys remember Mickey, right?” Ian said, walking back over to Mickey and putting a hand on his back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lip said around an unlit cigarette. “He’s the guy you were giving all those starry eyed looks at your birthday.”

Mickey snorted and looked up at Ian, seeing a faint blush on his neck and cheeks.

“I was drunk, I was giving everyone starry eyed looks,” Ian defended.

“Yeah, and you were asking about where _‘everyone’_ was every ten seconds too.” Debbie added while rolling his eyes and making quotation marks with her fingers.

Carl crossed her arms, keeping his face straight as he gave Mickey a quick once over, “Or waiting until _'everyone'_ went outside for a smoke before you did too.”

Ian cleared his throat and turned his head to look at Mickey, “I swear they’re making it sound worse than it was.”

Mickey clicked his tongue and cocked an eyebrow, clearly there were some very unsubtle moments from that night that Mickey had missed. “That so?”

Ian shrugged, lowering his hand on Mickey’s back and stepping closer. “Well, I mean, if what they're saying is true, it's only because you looked sexy as fuck that night.”

"Oh yeah?"

"And maybe some other shit too, but mostly the sexy thing."

“Ugh, gross!” Debbie scowled and raised her hands up as she walked away, “Please flirt with each other when I’m not here.”

Ian laughed and stepped away from Mickey, following Debbie to the kitchen and saying, “well, you guys started it.”

Mickey watched as Ian walked away and smiled to himself, once again lost in a daze that only Ian seemed to create. It took a couple seconds before he realized that he was still standing in the doorway with Ian's brothers watching him critically. Mickey tried his best to smile politely and scratched the back of his neck.

Fuck, this was going to awkward as hell.

* * *

Christmas Eve was filled with a lot of tradition, apparently. There was no dinner, only a bunch of snacks and appetizers because they never used to be able to afford dinner for both Christmas Eve and Day. They drank hot chocolate and rum almost exclusively, because it was Frank's (who, Mickey learned, was their dad) favorite Christmas drink. Then they crowded around the television to watch a crappy old taped VHS of It's a Wonderful Life because that used to be the only Christmas movie they had. According to Ian, even though they had more money and Frank wasn't allowed in the house anymore all of it had stuck, becoming Gallagher family traditions.

It was weird, but Ian was fucking weird so Mickey wasn't actually too surprised that his family was too.

Part way through the movie, when Mickey was resting heavily against Ian's side and trying his best not to doze off, more people filtered through the door. Mickey was startled back to full consciousness by a loud cackle and the door banging shut. Mickey recognized each of them from Ian’s birthday. The loud woman with the stupid fucking laugh was Vee, and then the tall guy who needed a haircut was her husband – Kev. Then there was the last guy, Fiona’s on and off fling with about fifty names – none of which Mickey could remember.

“Damn it, we missed the whole movie Vee!” Kev whined and leaned with his arms on the back of the couch.

“Sorry Kev,” Fiona said with a sympathetic smile. “Little guy needs to go to bed and a reasonable time. You know how it is.”

“Do we ever,” Vee rolled her eyes as she stepped around to sit on the arm of the couch beside Debbie. “Took fucking forever to get the twins in bed, too excited for Santa Claus. We should’ve never told them about Christmas.”

“Aw, c’mon Vee, it’s all going to be worth it when we see their happy little faces tomorrow.” Kev gushed and smiled down at his wife.

“Is Carol over there now?” Fiona asked.

Mickey sighed quietly and turned his attention back to the TV, finding his interest in the new guests diminished as soon as baby chat came up.

“Sorry they're talking through the last bit,” Ian whispered, his lips brushing against Mickey’s ear. “It kind of always ends up with Fiona and Vee talking over the movie.”

“S’fine,” Mickey mumbled, glancing over at Ian and trying his best to give him an earnest smile. It seemed to fall flat as Ian just chuckled lowly and slid his hand onto Mickey’s thigh, squeezing it briefly and then leaving his hand rested there as he turned back to the screen. Mickey didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the movie, or anything other than the feel of Ian’s hand on his leg. He had gotten used to the PDA when they were out in the city together – even reveled in it, instigated it – but being around Ian’s family was different. Not a bad different, just somehow more official.

The movie ended and Liam was sent off to bed after the final Christmas Eve tradition of opening one present from under the comically large tree (Fiona’s boytoy trying to buy his way back into her pants, apparently). Liam had let out a loud cheer when he found it was a book in the latest book series he had been reading, it was a little worn and probably second-hand, but Liam loved it.

“It’s so weird how into reading he is now,” Ian whispered proudly to Mickey, “Debbie’s the only other one that’s ever really liked reading out of us.”

It was kind of endearing how much Ian and his siblings loved the little guy, if not a little smothering.

Liam was shuffled off to bed not long after with a scolding from Fiona about what would happen if she caught him up late reading again. As soon as he was upstairs and tucked away, music was playing and booze was flowing. Fiona, Vee, and Debbie were dancing and singing in a circle while Kev stood nearby bouncing on the balls of his feet to the beat. It reminded Mickey a bit of the parties Mandy and her bitchy roommates would throw – a little obnoxious but still mostly fun.

Mickey stood at the side with Lip and Carl, watching as Ian joined into the dance party, taking Fiona’s hand and spinning her around. Ian was, for lack of a better term, jolly as fuck. In fact, the whole house just seemed really fucking jolly, which suited the day but was weird to witness.

“So, how long have you and Ian known each other?”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, looking over to see Lip leaning against the wall and watching him with that damn smug smirk.

“Few months,” Mickey answered gruffly.

Lip nodded and pulled out an unlit cigarette to hold between his lips. “And now you’re dating?”

Mickey shrugged, looking back to Ian and taking a sip of his beer, “Yeah, we’re dating or whatever.”

“Dating or whatever, huh? Does that mean you’re really dating, or just a little bit dating?”

“Really dating,” Mickey fixed Lip with a sharp glare. “The whole boyfriend thing and meeting each other’s fucking families.”

“Ian’s met your family?”

“All of it that matters,” Mickey said coolly, he was beginning to wonder if anything made this fucker shut up.

Lip smirked and paused to light his cigarette, taking a long drag and blowing it out directly in front of Mickey’s face. Mickey scowled as he fanned some of the smoke away, and turned his body to face Lip head on. “Do we have a fucking problem here?”

Lip shrugged, “depends. See, Ian might not know much about your family tree, but I do. I know the type of shit you all used to do, and I know that you were involved in it too.”

“Been gone for a while, in case you missed it, don’t do that shit anymore.”

Lip nodded and stepped in closer, “Good. Now, if you fuck this up or hurt him, Carl’s been getting pretty good with a baseball bat. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, asshole.” Mickey snorted, turning away from Lip and walking into the kitchen. He probably should have been mad, but mostly he was just relieved that whatever dumb threat he was going to receive was now over and done with.

Mickey dropped onto the steps of the stairs, enjoying the chance to relax for a second and lighting up a cigarette for himself. He could still hear the thumping of the music from the next room clearly, but it was almost soothing now that he was alone. He rested his elbows back on one of the higher steps and closed his eyes, dropping his head back and quietly humming along to the familiar pop tune playing.

“You look comfy,” Ian said with a small laugh.

Mickey smiled and shuffled over to make room for Ian without bothering to open his eyes. He felt Ian sitting beside him and draping an arm loosely over his legs.

“Tired?” Ian asked softly.

Mickey shook his head and finally opened his eyes, sucking on his lower lip when the first thing he saw was Ian looking down at him, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Just taking a minute.”

“Mind if I _take a minute_ with you?”

Mickey stuck the cigarette between his lips and stretched out his arm behind Ian’s back and over his shoulder, pulling him back to rest beside Mickey. Ian grinned at the silent answer and shuffled in closely to Mickey’s side.

“You’re such a cuddly sap,” Ian murmured, kissing Mickey’s neck and sighing contently.

Mickey didn’t say a word, just let his eyes drift shut again as he thought maybe Ian was right about that, but he didn’t mind being a sap as long as Ian still liked him that way. They laid in silence until Mickey’s cigarette burnt down to the nub and Mickey was forced to stand and stub it out in the ash tray on the counter.

Ian yawned and stretched out his arms, cracking his back in the process. “Are you sure you’re not tired?”

Mickey snickered and kicked at Ian’s foot, “did I put you to sleep?”

Ian shrugged with a tired smile and reached out to hook his fingers through two of Mickey’s belt loops, dragging him close until Ian could lean forward and rest his forehead against Mickey’s stomach. Mickey carded his fingers through Ian’s hair while fondly looking down at his sleepy boyfriend. Fuck, he was irresistibly adorable when he was tired. Mickey traced one finger down his face and along his jaw.

“C’mon, Sleepy face, if you pass out here you’re going to be sore as fuck in the morning.”

Ian laughed and nodded, letting himself be pulled to his feet by Mickey and leading Mickey upstairs to their room for the night. Ian pulled back a fabric accordion door and waved Mickey into the room, saying something about how Carl and Lip had agreed to sleep in the old boy’s room for the night.

Ian stripped down to his boxers, Mickey following suit, and they both collapsed onto the bed a second later. Ian draping himself over Mickey like a blanket and pressing his face into Mickey’s neck.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Ian yawned loudly and snuffled. “I really wanted to spend Christmas with you.”

Mickey rubbed his hands up and down Ian’s sides. “You sure? Because I didn’t even get you a gift.”

Ian grinned against Mickey’s skin and nodded, “yeah, but you’re the only gift I need.”

Mickey bit down on his lip as a warmth spread through his body at Ian’s words. “You’re so lame, man,” Mickey teased.

Ian snorted and giggled, nodding sleepily once again, “Yeah, maybe a little.”


	13. thirteen.

Mickey woke up early in the morning. The sky was still dark and Ian was snoring loudly beside him - an unfortunate result of his drinking the night before. Mickey sniffed and licked his dry lips, fingers twitching for a morning cigarette and his head pounding for some coffee. He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs out of bed, running a hand through his hair in a vain effort to fix it up a bit and pulling on his jeans and shirt from the day before.

He quietly slipped out of the room, leaving Ian to sleep as he padded down the stairs at into the kitchen. He squinted at the clock on the stove; it was unsurprisingly a little after five, it seemed biological clocks didn't take a break for holidays. He spent a couple minutes poking around the cupboards, looking for some coffee grounds to start up the coffee maker before he went outside but found nothing. The kitchen had a million cupboards and no organization, it was like playing a game of 'Where's Waldo?' to find anything. Mickey huffed and gave up, rolling his eyes at the room and walking out the back door.

Mickey leaned over the rail and took a long drag, enjoying the soothing effects of nicotine in the morning, calming his jitters and fidgeting fingers. Mickey let his eyes wander over the backyard while he smoked. It looked a lot like the front yard, a layer of thick snow covering the ground, some of it piled up over random crap that had likely been sitting around for years. There was a metal frame for a pool closer to the house, a shed that looked as though it might collapse if you tried to open the door further near the alley, and an old van that probably couldn't start sitting on the parking pad. Mickey almost laughed at how similar it looked to his old backyard, except maybe a little cleaner and replace the van with a couple Junker cars.

It was nice, being able to relate with Ian. There weren't a lot of people Mickey had met since leaving Canaryville that really got it. Sure, he'd met some poor as fuck people who were so far in debt it was a surprise they were ever allowed to buy anything, but it wasn't the same type of poor. They didn't understand what it was like to be barely surviving, to portion what food is left in the house so no one starves, and to have to scam and steal just to keep a roof over your head. Since moving out on his own, Mickey spent every damn day feeling so lucky. Feeling lucky to have a place to live, a legal job that paid him, and never having to worry about where his next meal will come from.

For most people around Mickey, that was like living under the poverty line, but to Mickey it was like being a fucking millionaire.

And Ian more than just understood that, he felt the same way.

"Aren't you cold?"

Mickey frowned and looked down to be met with big brown eyes staring back at him. He hadn't even heard the door open and yet here was Liam standing next to him in his big boots and baggy pajamas. The kid was like a fucking ninja.

"Getting there, yeah," Mickey answered after a second. "You cold, kid?" Liam nodded vigorously and wrapped his little arms around his body. Mickey chuckled, "Why'd you come out here then? No one else awake yet?"

Liam shrugged, "I woke up Fiona but she's taking too long."

"So you decided to go hang out in the backyard with a stranger? Not too smart, kid."

Liam giggled and shoved Mickey's leg. "You're not a stranger, you're Ian's boyfriend," Liam said with a big smile that reminded Mickey of Ian's big dumb smile. 

Mickey reluctantly stubbed out the remaining quarter of his cigarette, tossing it in the snow, and nodded for Liam to follow him back inside the house. Mickey held the door open while Liam stepped through and watched with amusement as Liam stomped his feet on the mat three or four times before kicking his boots across the room.

"'Aight," Mickey said as he closed the door, "The trade-off for coming back inside is that you need to show me where the fucking coffee is."

Liam pursed his lips, he watched Mickey for a second before spinning on one foot and rushing into the kitchen. He started digging through one of the lower cupboards. Mickey circled around the counter, watching as Liam practically sat himself inside the cupboard before popping out with his arms raised, a bag of coffee grounds in one hand and a box of pancake mix in the other.

"Well done, kid," Mickey said with a proud smirk. He gave Liam a quick pat on the head before grabbing the bag of coffee grounds and making his way to the old, stained coffee maker.

"We gotta make pancakes too." Liam said, "every body's gonna want pancakes today."

Mickey raised his eyebrows, looking back down at Liam as he scooped coffee grounds. "Is that a joke?"

Liam shook his head back and forth quickly, "we gotta do it!"

"You are aware it's Christmas, right? Shouldn't you be running around and screaming about opening presents."

Liam shook his head again. "Not before eating breakfast."

"That another one of your weird traditions?"

Mickey frowned as he watched Liam nodding enthusiastically, another big smile spreading on his face. Mickey didn't think much of making breakfast for all of the Gallagher’s; he rarely ever made a breakfast for himself so the idea of making it for a bunch of other people sucked.

But Liam had that stupid Ian-esque smile and he knew that everyone would probably appreciate it, especially Ian. Plus, if he was looking to make a good impression, feeding them was probably a good start.

"Fuck, fine," Mickey grumbled and waved for Liam to hand over the pancake mix. "Are we just making pancakes or is there something to go with it."

Liam tilted his head and scrunched up his nose, "like syrup?"

"Like bacon or sausages or eggs, you know, the whole food groups thing. You learned about that in school, right? Go check for something." Mickey said, grabbing a bowl he had remembered seeing out of one of the higher cupboards for mixing.

Liam nodded happily and walked over to the fridge, swinging it open with both his arms. "We learned about the food pyramid, pancakes are the most important part though because they're the biggest."

"Pancakes have their own part?" Mickey walked over to the fridge behind Liam, reaching forward and grabbing the milk and a carton of eggs.

"No, but there's a bread part for grains and stuff – pancakes are grains." Liam explained before rushing over to Mickey's side, presenting him with an opened package of sausages. "Do we need vegetables too? Because that's on the next biggest part on the food pyramid."

Mickey snorted as he mixed up the batter, not bothering to look down at Liam's face, the disappointed tone was telling enough. "Nah, kid, veggies are gross, don't bother with 'em."

Liam dragged a footstool over next to Mickey, hopping on it and putting out his hands to take the mixing spoon from Mickey. Mickey passed it over to him and snickered as he watched Liam try to use both arms, the bowl spinning along with the batter at every movement. Mickey reached out and carefully took one of Liam's hands, moving it down to hold the bowl and guiding his other in stirring.

"There you go, kid, you good now?"

Liam nodded and kept his arms stiff as Mickey moved away to pull out the griddle and search for a frying pan. Mickey paused, digging through one of the shelves and let out an exasperated sigh.

Who the fuck thought this was any condition to leave a kitchen?

"Alright Liam, where the fuck is the frying pan?"

Liam turned on his stool and squinted around the kitchen before pointing at the top corner cupboard by the fridge. Mickey trudged across the kitchen, still feeling slow and achy due to a lack of coffee, and dug through the shelves before finding a scratched to shit frying pan buried way at the back. Mickey returned to the stove, turning on one of the elements and going over to check the heat on the griddle.

Time past quickly as Mickey worked away in the kitchen with Liam. Soon he had guzzled through one cup of coffee and was sipping at his second while flipping pancakes. Sausages were sizzling in the pan, some of the sides looked a little burnt but they smelled good so Mickey assumed it was probably alright.

Liam was sitting on one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter, watching Mickey worked, elbows propped on the counter and hands holding his head up. He had a glass of orange juice sitting in front of him, with a half full jug and a pile of paper towel to his right (Liam had been insistent that he could pour his own drink; he could not, it was messy).

"Can I flip one?" Liam asked as Mickey poured three more circles onto the griddle.

Mickey looked up at Liam and crossed his arms. On the one hand, if Liam was burnt or injured in anyway, the Gallagher hoard would probably skin him alive. But on the other hand, Liam's eyes were huge and he looked so damn hopeful that Mickey was sure he would be a terrible person to crush his little spirit, especially on fucking Christmas.

Mickey chewed on his lip, debating his options for a short moment before relenting and waving Liam to join him in front of the griddle. Liam hopped off his seat with a grin and rushed around the counter, using his socks to slide on the floor. He pulled his stool and excitedly hopped up on it beside Mickey, practically vibrating on spot as he waited for Mickey to hand over the spatula.

"'Aight, be careful when you’re doing this, okay?" Mickey said, holding the spatula hostage until he saw Liam nodding seriously.

Mickey finally passed over the spatula, standing over Liam closely as watching his every move. Liam didn't manage to properly flip the first pancake, having it drag and leave a more oval like shape. The second one flopped in half, them smeared and looked strange when Liam tried to fix it. Liam furrowed his brow, looking determined as he moved on to the final pancake, managing to flip it perfectly (maybe a little close to the second one, but still pretty perfect).

Liam cheered and looked over at Mickey. "I did it!"

Mickey grinned, "Yeah, kid, you did it." He raised a hand for a high five but instead Liam wrapped his small arms around Mickey's middle. "Uh," Mickey glanced around the room and patted Liam awkwardly on the back.

"You're so cool," Liam said and he clung to Mickey tighter.

Mickey's lips quirked at the edges as he tried to awkwardly put an arm around Liam in a half returned hug. He had never really considered that anyone in Ian's family might actually like him. He figured the best he would get was tolerance, or maybe indifference, but never hugs in the kitchen. It was surprisingly nice, not just because it made Mickey feel like he was actually being a good boyfriend, but because it was just nice to be liked by the kid.

Especially since Mickey thought Liam was pretty cool too.

* * *

Fiona finally made her way downstairs as Liam was rushing around setting the table for everyone. She paused on the last step, still squeezing her damp hair with a towel, and smiled widely at the display. Mickey caught her watching and froze half way through putting the sausages on a plate. He chewed on his lower lip and scanned the room quickly.

“Uh, hey,” Fiona said and made her way fully into the room. “I didn’t know anybody else was up this early.” Mickey shrugged awkwardly, lip still pressed firmly between his teeth, unsure of what to say to the eldest Gallagher.

“We made breakfast!” Liam cheered rushing over to Fiona and hugging her, “and I got to actually cook too.”

Mickey cursed silently, preparing himself for whatever beating Fiona was about to dole out, but was surprised when Fiona just laughed and bent down to give Liam a proper hug.

“What’d you make?” She prompted looking at the table where all the food was set up. “Was it the eggs? I know you like making eggs.”

“Nope!” Liam grinned toothily and pulled back from his sisters arms. “Mickey showed me how to make the pancakes.”

“Wow, kiddo, that’s amazing. Pretty soon you’re going to be on Top Chef.”

Liam giggled and scrunched up his nose, “no, they make gross food.”

Mickey snorted and nodded, finding that he had relaxed into the situation without even noticing. Fiona looked up at Mickey and laughed before standing up straight and clapping her hands together. “Alright, Chef Gallagher, Chef Milkovich, how can I help?”

“Get glasses,” Liam told her as he walked back over to the table to straighten out utensils.

Fiona smiled, watching as the boy moved about the table and worked away at making the table look presentable. She looked over at Mickey and swallowed, smiling shyly at being caught admiring her little brother.

“He’s just something else, y’know,” Fiona explained with a short laugh. “Thanks for taking care of him while I was upstairs, didn’t mean to take so long, it’s just we got this new shower-head and the pressure is too good for a five minute wash.” Fiona moved to the cupboard, reaching up and dragging out glasses to place on the counter. “It’s weird, having things like that. All this fancy fucking stuff like we’re not in the middle of the ghetto.” She let out a short, breathy laugh and shrugged, “I feel like I’m cheating somehow, like I should give it all back, but these kids deserve nice things and a nice home.” She stepped in beside Mickey and hip checked him lightly with a sly half-smile, “like making a nice family breakfast for Christmas.”

Mickey shrugged once again, finding it harder to talk to Fiona than Liam. He had half expected Fiona to treat him the same as Lip, and yet here she was sharing her feelings and being fucking nice. It was comforting that she didn’t hate him, but at the same time he had no idea how to respond to it.

“The kid wanted to, I was just in the fucking room.”

Fiona scoffed and smiled sweetly, poking at Mickey's arm. “Stop being modest, it’s a nice thing you did; I’m trying to give you a compliment here. I’m gonna say ‘thank you’ and all you gotta do is say ‘you’re welcome’. Got that?”

Mickey sighed deeply and stopped to look at Fiona expectantly. Fiona chuckled at the display and shook her head, “Thank you for helping Liam with breakfast, Mickey.”

“You’re welcome,” Mickey grumbled before grabbing the plate of sausages and placing it on the table in an empty space.

Liam screeched and rushed around the table. “Not there, Mickey!”

Fiona laughed loudly, sharing an amused look with Mickey as Liam worked away to perfect the table settings once again.

* * *

One of the wonderful benefits from cooking breakfast was the way Ian had been looking at Mickey since he woke up. It was like Mickey had cured cancer – or some other shit worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize – instead of just turning on a frying pan.

During the meal, Ian had kept sneaking a hand to rest on Mickey’s leg, or the back of his neck, or tangled up with Mickey’s own hand. Then once he had started cleaning up the kitchen (adamantly denying Mickey’s help and leaving him sitting at the table) he would swoop down to kiss Mickey quickly every time he walked past – sometimes on the top of his head, or cheek, and once his shoulder. But most of the time he’d press his warm, soft lips against Mickey, smiling into the kiss and making Mickey tingle from head to toe.

It was surreal.

The rest of the day progressed in a way the Mickey was told to be average. They unwrapped gifts in order by age on the first round – all of the older siblings had one gift each, having drawn names at the beginning of the month to determine who they were buying for – and then after that it was just Liam unwrapping gift after gift. Liam’s reactions had been so over-the-top and perfect that Mickey wondered in the kid had been practicing. He would rush to tear apart the wrapping paper, then gasp excitedly at whatever it was before holding it up and posing for photos from five different phones.

It was a little like Liam had five parents cooing over him, all of them spoiling him silly and treating him like the next messiah. Mickey didn’t blame them, he guessed it was like Fiona said: it was nice being able to give the kid something they never had. It was just a little shocking that Liam wasn’t just a spoiled little shit. Mickey thought that probably said a lot about Liam’s character, even as a six year old.

After the gifts everyone parted for a little while, spending some time admiring their new gifts from each other or just catching up, giving Mickey an opportunity to learn more about Ian’s siblings throughout the day.

Fiona, Carl and Liam were the only ones that still consistently lived in the house anymore and Carl only for a short while longer as he finished up his last year of high school. Debbie had only been gone for a few months, still coming back nearly every weekend to visit with her siblings. She had followed in Lip’s footsteps, going to Chicago PolyTech and living in the dorms there. Lip was living in an off-campus apartment, finishing up his last year of College and working at an internship in a Robotics lab. Mickey almost laughed at how pompous he sounded when he explained the types of things they were building.

Fiona didn’t talk much about her life, unlike the rest of the siblings. She had a job somewhere, made a decent amount of money, and that fucking weirdo Jimmy came around to try and woo her. But when she talked about accomplishments or achievements it was just gushing about all her siblings had done and how incredible all their lives were. She was probably the most motherly person Mickey had ever met – more so even than his own mother.

Unconditional love and pride. That’s what it was.

In fact, it wasn’t just Fiona; the whole damn house seemed to be bursting with it **.**

It made Mickey a bit uncomfortable just because the whole atmosphere was completely different from what he'd always known. Even Mandy didn't act this way with him, there was more insults, a little more contempt for each other’s lifestyle choices and significantly less talking.

Mickey found himself easing more into the family activities as the booze started flowing. It was the stuff Mickey recognized, the one tradition that every Southside family seemed to follow; getting fucked up on Christmas.

By noon Mickey had already gone through four beers and smoked a joint with Lip on the front steps (turned out that Lip was just as much of an asshole when he was high). Ian spent the day beaming at him, face and neck flush from alcohol as he continued to wrap himself around Mickey, kissing and hugging him at any opportunity he got just because he fucking could.

It felt a little like Mickey had stolen someone else's life. Visiting his boyfriends family, doing stupid domestic shit around them, fucking cuddling on the couch while passing a mickey of whiskey back and forth; it was something Mickey never expected to have. When he was younger the idea of even being out was impossible, then when he was with Chris just the idea of contently being couple-y around other people was a shock, but now everything as perfect. Ian just had a way about him that made everything seem possible and amazing.

"Thank you for coming, I'm really glad you're here." Ian whispered; chin resting on Mickey's shoulder and nose pressing against Mickey's neck.

A sarcastic, dismissive response sat on the tip of Mickey's tongue, but Ian sounded so sincere and content that Mickey couldn't even fucking tease him. Instead Mickey just leaned back into Ian's arms and took another drink, because he was glad he was there too.

* * *

The night ended at the Alibi.

Mickey almost laughed as he walked through the door behind Ian and his siblings. He had known about the Alibi most of his life, but had never been allowed inside. When Mickey was a kid, Terry had managed to get himself and the whole family banned for life. Mickey had spent years listening to Terry's ramblings about what happened and from what he'd learned Terry had somehow pissed of the bar's liquor suppliers, who also happened to be part of the fucking mob, and subsequently was booted by the old owner; Stan.

Being the first Milkovich in a decade to be allowed and welcomed inside was an oddly satisfying feeling.

The place was decently full, which Mickey more or less expected. Not much to do in the Back of the Yards on Christmas other than get fucked up.

Fiona rushed ahead to the bar, waving excitedly at Vee and Kev from where the stood behind the bar (on the walk to the Alibi, Ian had explained that once Stan croaked the place had been passed on to Kev, there was some dramatic shit that went on there with Stan's son too but Mickey had stopped listening by then). Mickey glanced around the bar, feeling a little wary that someone might be there that he recognized but was pleasantly surprised when there was no one. He awkwardly followed along behind Ian to a round table in the middle of the bar and sat down beside Debbie _._

Ian instantly fell into an easy conversation with his siblings, talking to Debbie about how her boxing was going and while Carl teased Debbie about some kid who had a crush on her. Mickey picked at his thumbnail idly, barely paying attention to the conversation. He'd overheard enough of the Gallagher chit-chat to recognize that it wasn't something he actually gave a shit about. It felt like he was in hour fifteen-fucking-billion of spending time with all these people and he was just fucking exhausted, maybe a little grumpy, and he kind of just wanted Ian to himself.

That was a big downside to spending so much time with Ian's family; Mickey had to share. Sure, he was kind of used to sharing his time with Ian with Mandy but that was different, there was a level of familiarity there that there just wasn't with the Gallagher's. As much as Mickey was starting to maybe, kind of, a bit, like Ian's family, he was ready to go home and stay there for the next three days away - just him and Ian away from everyone. It sounded like fucking paradise.

"I'm going to grab a pitcher," Ian said, interrupting Mickey's thoughts and shooting him a quick smile before he was up on his feet and at the bar with Lip and Fiona.

Mickey slowly turned his gaze to Debbie and Carl and felt a short panic. Both of them were leaning on the table with their elbows, tilted heads as they stared at Mickey with creepy-ass patronizing smiles.

Mickey cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. "So, you got all the classes you wanted for next semester?"

"Yeah, sure," Debbie answered dismissively before changing the topic to what suited her. "So, what are your intentions with our brother?"

Mickey's eyebrows shot up, he really thought he'd gotten past all of this shit by now. How many fucking conversations about his 'intentions' did he really need to have? One for each over-protective sibling? Jesus, he just kind of wanted to hang out with Liam again.

"To date him?" Mickey watched the pair of teens cautiously, hoping that he had provided a satisfactory enough answer that this fucking topic could die already.

"You gonna dump him?" Carl questioned bluntly, resting back and crossing his arms.

"He's not going to tell us if he's going to dump him, idiot." Debbie scowled, rolling her eyes at her brother and looking back at Mickey. "What he means is are you going to hurt him?"

"Why would he tell us if he's going to hurt Ian, but not if he's going to dump him?" Carl snapped, glaring at the back of Debbie's head.

Debbie whipped around in her seat to face Carl once again, "because it's the nicer way of saying it. If he hurts Ian then it could be an accident, dumping someone is on purpose."

"If it's an accident then he won't know it's gonna happen."

"Oh my god, Carl! It might not _be_ an accident."

"Then he's doing on purpose, just like dumping him."

Mickey crossed his arms and leaned back, happy for the bickering induced reprieve from answering questions about his relationship with Ian and his goddamn intentions (which were fucking great intentions, by the way). Mickey took the opportunity to relax a bit, letting Debbie and Carl's argument become white noise as he took a chance to look around the Alibi interior once again. It was a nice enough place, dark wood all over the place, a collection of old signs hung on the wall mixed in with some more modern beer advertisements. If he was being honest, it reminded him of a crappy version of Monty's, though he figured for a place on the Southside it was probably just lucky that there wasn't a whorehouse upstairs.

Mickey's slow panoramic gaze of the room halted as soon as he found Ian. He was leaning against the bar smiling, laughing, and leaning a little too fucking close to some guy for Mickey's comfort. Mickey scowled but stayed in his seat, talking himself through the sudden burst of rage and jealousy.

It was probably some old friend. This was Ian's old neighborhood, his families old hang out, and it was Christmas. Of course he was going to run into some old friends or some shit; that just made sense. Plus, Ian had been drinking and he was a touchy drunk. Not in the way that he would get kind of slutty (even though, yeah, drunk Ian did get kind of slutty for Mickey - but that was an exclusive thing), but he was just the kind of drunk that would lean in to shout in your ear instead of talking like a normal human being, or hold on to your shoulder if you were next to him - sometimes when they would get really fucked up he would do this hair petting and face stroking thing too (which weirdly, as it turned out, Mickey kind of liked).

Mickey breathed in deeply, because, yeah - it was fucking fine.

Until it wasn't fucking fine and Mickey saw Aaron's stupid, goddamn face on the guy Ian was talking to. Fucking Aaron. Fucking ex-fuck buddy Aaron. Fucking ex-fuck buddy, practically salivating all over Ian and putting his hand on Ian's fucking hip, Aaron.

Fucking Aaron.

"You're brother's fucking swell and I'm not going to hurt him or dump him," Mickey snapped suddenly at Debbie and Carl, interrupting their hissing argument as he glared over at Ian and fucking Aaron. Mickey turned back to face Debbie and Carl, "We good here?"

Debbie looked over at Carl, Carl shrugged and looked over at Debbie. Mickey tapped the table and smiled thinly, "Great, now that that's cleared up." He pushed away from the table without another word, making his way steadily across the bar to stand next to Ian.

"Yo," Mickey said with a nod, slipping in beside where Ian stood and onto the empty stool. He didn't fail to notice the sudden movement of Aaron pulling his hand away.

Ian grinned widely and put a hand on Mickey's shoulder, "Hey Mick, I was gonna bring the beer back but I got distracted."

Mickey looked Aaron up and down, scowling, “I can fuck see that."

Ian stopped halfway through a sip of beer and nodded, "Right, sorry, Mickey, this is my friend Aaron. Aaron, this is my boyfriend, Mickey."

Aaron's eyes widened, seeming startled by the confession, and his smile grew just a little too big to be genuine. "Nice to meet you, Mickey," He laughed and leaned against the bar, looking back at Ian, "I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

Mickey barely restrained himself from growling. He instead hooked a finger through Ian's belt loop and dragged him in until his back was pressed against Mickey's chest and he was standing between Mickey's legs. Maybe it was a little possessive, but fucking Aaron was provoking him – intentional or not.

"Well he does," Mickey responded heatedly.

Ian twisted his neck, looking down at Mickey with a small frown as if Mickey’s attitude was perplexing. Mickey cocked an eyebrow as Ian watched him, challenging Ian's doubt in his actions.

"How long have you been together?" Aaron interrupted.

Ian shrugged, directing his attention back to Aaron, "A little over a month now, I think."

Aaron laughed; smiling easily as he casually poured himself a beer from Ian's pitcher. "So, that would be why I haven't heard from you in a month, huh?"

Ian flushed and scratched the back of his neck, "Um, yeah."

Aaron reached over and tugged on the hem of Ian's shirt playfully, laughing once again in the same grating sound. Mickey's eyes stayed glued to Aaron's hand as it lingered for a second too long against Ian (even though touching him for a second is really a second too fucking long). 

"It's alright, I get it," Aaron said.

Ian smiled and leaned back against Mickey, "honestly, I should text you sometime though."

"The fuck?!" Mickey questioned sharply causing Ian to stand up straight and pull away.

Ian frowned at Mickey, "just to hang out," he looked over at Aaron and smiled, "you know, we could catch up or something."

"Yes! We should go out dancing," Aaron said happily, completely ignoring the way Mickey was glaring daggers at him.

Ian smile morphed into a giddy grin as he placed his hands on Aaron's shoulders, once again getting to close to the other man for Mickey’s comfort. Fuck, the whole conversation was making Mickey feel sick. "That would be so fun, I never get to go dancing anymore! Mickey hates it, so – “

"I don't fucking hate it," Mickey let out, the aggressive tone once again receiving a furrowed brow and tight lipped stare from Ian.

"You don't?"

Mickey shrugged, fidgeting in his seat when he noticed Aaron was watching him as well. "Just not fucking good at it," he grumbled finally, shrinking a bit under Ian’s gaze and trying his best to divert the attention. Ian didn't stop staring though, still frowning like he knew Mickey was just shit talking – which he was, he fucking hated dancing. The only good part about dancing was how hot it got Ian, but otherwise the whole thing was uncomfortable as fuck. That didn't matter though, he still did it sometimes because Ian liked to, so where the fuck did he get off inviting his ex-fuck buddy out dancing and then give Mickey judging looks for getting pissed.

"Fuck off, whatever," Mickey growled, breathing in deeply through his nose, "you assholes feel free to run off and gyrate all over each other."

Aaron's mouth dropped open in shock from Mickey's outburst, as if he didn't fucking know what he had been doing. Ian was staring at him too, but he didn't look surprised, just upset and disappointed, which just pissed Mickey off more.

"Uh, I think I'm going to be heading out." Aaron said quietly and smiled warmly at Ian, "It was nice running into you."

"Yeah, you too," Ian agreed and hugged Aaron quickly before the other man walked away and out of the bar.

Ian tapped his finger on the bar, jaw tight and chin jutting out as he glared down at the wood. He looked up at Mickey after a long silence and when he spoke his voice was low and careful, "I'm going to spend time with my family." He turned and walked to the table with Debbie and Carl without sparing Mickey another glance.

Mickey didn't move an inch. Ian was pissed at him, that was easy enough to see, and that kind of made Mickey even angrier. Somewhere inside he could understand why Ian might be upset – maybe a little embarrassed or some shit. But Mickey was drunk, seething, and a little irrational. Mickey grabbed the pitcher of beer that Ian had left and poured himself a glass - fuck Ian, and fuck his tall, blonde, model fuck buddy.

Drinking alone wasn't exactly how he planned to end his Christmas, but he probably should have expected it.

* * *

“You gonna fucking talk to me yet?” Mickey snapped around the cigarette stuck between his lips, finally able to smoke since getting of the El and trying to keep up with Ian’s insane speed walking pace.

Ian hadn’t said a word since they left the Alibi, and hadn’t talked to Mickey since long before that. Lip had warned Mickey when they were leaving that he was now experiencing ‘the chin’ – Ian’s more formidable version of the cold-shoulder.

Mickey clicked his tongue and shook his head, looking away from Ian and the fucking ‘chin’ when his question got no response.

“So, you’re pissed at me?” Mickey asked, trying to keep his voice calm even as his insides were burning with fury. “You flirt with your ex and I’m the one who’s getting in shit? Because, what, I’m supposed to be okay with you trying to get some side dick? Nah, Ian, doesn’t fucking work that way.”

“What the fuck, Mickey?!” Ian snapped, stopping suddenly and turning sharply to face Mickey. “I talk to a guy for two minutes and I’m trying to get _‘side dick’_. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think? Chatting it up at the fucking bar, letting him grope all over you.” Mickey snapped, “you miss the part where I’m your boyfriend? ‘Cause you’re sure as fuck giddy enough to post it all over the internet but for some reason forget when Goldilocks comes walking in.”

“Fuck you, we were talking!”

“Talking? Really? Because it looked more like he wanted you to choke on his cock.”

“Are you even listening to yourself right now? We were catching up, not fucking! It’s not like I went over there and told him to jerk me off or some shit. Jesus, Mickey, he barely even touched me.”

Mickey shrugged, raising his eyebrows into a critical arch, “Just saying what I’m seeing.”

Ian scowled, moving in close and pressing a pointed finger against Mickey’s chest. “You’re a fucking asshole – a jealous, insecure asshole.”

“Oh, I’m insecure and jealous?” Mickey asked with a dark laugh, “Like you didn’t pull the exact same shit when we ran into Chris.”

Ian’s eyes darkened and he shook his head, “that’s different.”

“Like fuck it’s different!”

Ian’s nostrils flared, pushing even closer into Mickey’s space, “Aaron was a guy I fooled around with a couple times, Chris was your boyfriend!”

“So what?”

“So, you dated him for three fucking years and you lived with him! You were fucking crushed when he left you! God, you were in love with him! How the fuck am I supposed to be not jealous of that?!” Ian’s shouted the words, letting them ring out in the cool night air.

Mickey felt the sudden intense urge to scream out that he loved Ian but found the words got stuck in his throat, along with any other words he wanted to say. He stood paralyzed in front of Ian for a moment, startled and overwhelmed by Ian’s blunt admission of his fears. Ian didn’t move an inch, staring into Mickey’s eyes with his own wide, wet ones. And, fuck, Mickey was still so mad at him but – damn, he really did love him.

Mickey stopped thinking, just stepped forward and pulled Ian down to press their lips together. Ian pulled him in closer, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist. His lips were warm and wet as they moved softly against Mickey’s, perfectly slotting like they were always met to fit together – like Ian was his perfect fit.

Mickey fisted his hands in Ian’s shirt, the kiss quickly growing more heated as their hips pressed together. Ian sighed, tangling his fingers through Mickey’s hair and dragging Mickey’s lower lip through his teeth. Mickey groaned and roughly pushed Ian back. He ignored Ian’s quiet protests, checking the surrounding area and pulling Ian into a nearby alley behind a large dumpster.

“Come ‘ere,” Mickey muttered dragging Ian back in, and letting him press Mickey up against the brick wall.

Their lips met again, moving sloppily together as Ian made fast work on both of their jeans, pulling Mickey’s hardened cock out along with his own and taking them both in his hands, pressed together and steadily jerking them. Mickey gripped tightly at Ian’s biceps, digging his blunt nails in, thrusting up into Ian’s tight grip and rubbing against him. Neither of them lasted long, gasping and cursing into each other’s mouths, letting all their anger dissipate in the emotionally fueled moment as they climaxed together in the back of a dirty alley.

Ian dropped his head, leaning his forehead against Mickey’s and huffed out a laugh, gingerly releasing his grip and wiping his hand off on Mickey’s jeans. “Was this gross?” He asked, glancing at the overflowing dumpster beside them.

“I’ve done grosser,” Mickey answered, kissing Ian chastely because his lips were right fucking there and Mickey couldn’t resist.

Ian smiled and raised a hand to lightly trace Mickey’s jaw and cheekbone with one finger. “I didn’t know that talking with Aaron would make you so mad,” Ian spoke softly, “if I was flirting, it was all just habit. I don’t want anything from him; never will as long as I have you.”

“He was the one flirting,” Mickey said, surprising himself when it was so easy to admit his fault. “You were just there, trying to be fucking nice or something.”

“No, I should have known better. Going dancing together? I knew what he wanted.” Ian sighed deeply, as if he were revolted by his own actions, “I just – I don’t want to screw this up, but I feel like I might.”

“Ian – “

“No, stop,” Ian cut him off quickly and breathed in deeply, “I haven’t had a relationship since Kash. And I don’t think Kash even really counts as a real relationship, so you’re... _it_. I don’t know anything about how to do this properly, but I want to learn and I want to be better at this for you, just be patient with me?”

Mickey was in awe, letting a warm sensation wash over him from Ian’s words. It never occurred to Mickey that despite Ian's ease with physical affection he was less experienced than Mickey at relationship, or that Ian might have the same insecurities as him, that Ian might feel like he's not good enough and that he might fuck everything up. Mickey was suddenly feeling choked up again, bursting to just say those three fucking words so badly but couldn’t quite do it. He bit down on his lower lip and nodded shyly, just trying to keep from turning into a wobbly mess.

“Thank you,” Ian whispered with a small, private smile just for Mickey and kissed him softly. “It’s late, we should probably get back to my apartment.”

Mickey nodded again and Ian stepped back, making room for Mickey to step away from the wall. Ian stopped Mickey from moving too far away by outstretching a hand to wrap around Mickey’s, successfully tangling their fingers together and pulling Mickey along as they walked out of the alley hand-in-hand.

“I won’t talk to Aaron again either,” Ian suddenly stated as they stepped back onto the sidewalk. “He was never even really a friend, kind of just the benefits part, and that’s all in my past.” He smiled down at Mickey, “is that good?”

And fuck, Mickey just nodded for the third time because words just really weren’t going to be happening for him.


	14. fourteen.

Mickey knew the fight hadn’t really ended yet.

It had, sort of, but the thing about fights was that there was always an echo - a reverberation bouncing through every aspect of their lives and reminding them that after months of peace and constant disgustingly amazing happiness; things weren’t picture perfect anymore.

They were a couple who fought now.

So, even though the fight seemed solved and over, Mickey knew that it wasn’t - not quite yet. There wasn’t any more shouting or biting words, it didn’t even really seem like a fight, but it was still there. All the words they said, the ways they felt were right fucking there.

Fucking echoes.

Mostly it was Ian who was acting strange. Mickey had woken up in the morning, prepared to forget completely about the fight because how could he wake up angry with Ian’s arms wrapped around him? (It was an impossibility). Ian wasn’t angry either, he kissed Mickey’s cheek and rolled out of bed, ignoring Mickey’s mumbled words of disapproval, and made him breakfast. Ian kissed Mickey before work, met him at Parkway Diner for lunch and paid for his meal, and then later that night cuddled up with him on the couch and watched all of Mickey’s favorite shows.

That first day it was really fucking nice, but then the next day Ian did the exact same thing. Then the day after he did it again, and the next day and the day after that.

It took Mickey nearly two weeks to recognize what was happening, to understand why suddenly Ian was acting differently - more passively - but when he did, he wondered how he had missed it all along.

Ian was in a panic.

He understood, kind of, why Ian would be so freaked out. Mickey didn’t say much during Ian’s confession of fault except to nod and agree with whatever Ian said, but it wasn’t because he had agreed. Ian thought that he was fucking up, wrecking their relationship because he didn’t know how to have one, he said so that night and Mickey just fucking stood there and nodded.

Ian wasn’t screwing up though. Yeah, Mickey had been pretty pissed about Prince Charming swooping into the bar and touching his boyfriend, but that didn’t mean Ian was fucking up and it definitely didn’t mean that Mickey would want to dump him. Which he probably could have said when Ian was admitted to all his insecurities about their relationship. Fuck, he really should have, but if there’s one terrible habit of Mickey’s that seemed to stand strong against the overpowering feelings he had for Ian, it was his inability to talk about his feelings.

He wanted to tell Ian to chill, to stop worrying so much, that Mickey’s fucking insanely, madly, crazily in love with him and he’s not going anywhere - ever. He wanted so badly to make Ian understand that no matter how much Ian thought he would screw up, it didn’t matter because Mickey was willing to work through anything with him.

But he couldn’t do it.

_Emotionally unavailable._

Yeah, that was the fucking problem. The constant fucking problem of Mickey’s life it seemed. He never realized that before Chris.

Fucking Chris.

* * *

When Mickey came home early from work the last thing he expected was an empty apartment. At lunch Ian had told him that he would be hanging out at Mickey’s until he had to go in for his shift, which was unfortunately before Mickey would be able to make it home. Mickey had figured he would surprise Ian, get off work early so they could hang out for a bit before Mickey walked him to work.

That plan hinged on Ian actually being in Mickey’s apartment though.

He huffed and figured that he may as well shower, then maybe he could call Ian and see where he was, although it was now more likely that Mickey would just have to meet him at Murphy’s.

Mickey walked through his apartment, tossing his jacket on the back of the kitchen chair and kicking off his shoes as he went with no regard for organization or cleanliness. He stopped short outside his bedroom door when he heard a shuddering gasp inside the room. Mickey’s first thought was that someone had broken in, he took a quick scan of the hall and noticed that there was nothing readily available he could use as a weapon. He thought for a moment about how disappointed a younger version of himself would be at the total lack of preparation he had in that moment.

There was another loud gasp from the room, followed by a low moan and Ian’s voice whispering Mickey’s name. Holy fuck. Mickey was pushing the door open in a second, his dick already fattening and pressing against his jeans.

Ian was sprawled out on this mattress, stark naked, legs spread open wide, with one hand tugging on his cock and the other pressing two fingers inside his asshole. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, and muscles tense. His fingers would plunge in, just as his hand reached the spongy head of his dick, and then pull almost completely out as Ian thrusted up into his fist. Mickey stared, dumbstruck and hard as rock as he watched Ian continue to fuck himself.

It was easily that hottest thing he had ever seen.

Ian opened his eyes, letting them fall on Mickey in a heated gaze as he continued to touch himself. He gasped as he twisted his fingers, his voice gravely and deep as he said, “You gonna join me, Mick?”

Mickey bit down on his lower lip, teeth digging in as he traced every inch of Ian with his eyes and committed it to memory. “Putting on a show, huh?”

“Mmm,” Ian hummed, “You like it?” Ian twisted his fingers again and his back arched off the bed as he hissed.

Mickey nodded, pulling off his shirt quickly, “Oh, fuck yeah.”

Mickey was over top of him in a second, hands rubbing over his chest and up to his neck as he sucked a line of bruises along Ian’s collarbone. Ian whimpered and Mickey loved it, loved every twitch and sound Ian was making. He was so hard and straining, jeans becoming more and more uncomfortable but he couldn’t stand to move away from Ian for a second. He was seriously wondering if he would be able to come in his jeans, completely untouched, just from the way Ian looked and sounded. It didn’t seem like too much of a stretch.

“Good,” Ian murmured, “So good, Mickey, God, anything for you.”

There wasn’t much that could have made Mickey pause, but those words did. He looked up at Ian, who didn’t seem to notice that Mickey stopped until he blinked open his eyes and saw Mickey’s furrowed brow.

Ian’s face immediately transformed to one of concern, stopping quickly and putting a hand on Mickey’s cheek. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Mickey nodded, chewing on the side of his cheek and glancing away from Ian awkwardly. Mickey sat up and pulled away, moving to the edge of the bed. Ian followed quickly, slipping into the spot next to Mickey and asking again, “What’s wrong, Mickey?”

“You don’t have to do shit for me,” Mickey said quietly, staring at his hands in his lap.

Ian smiled and shook his head, “I want to do shit for you.”

Mickey scowled and breathed out loudly, he wasn’t sure exactly to describe what he was feeling to Ian. That for the past month all Ian had been was perfect, and all the ways he’d tried to make Mickey happy had been amazing, but he didn’t want it. It led to moments like this, moments where Mickey was in perfect bliss and wondering if Ian was just going through the motions.

He had tried to bring it up before, every time Ian did something just a bit off or let some annoying thing Mickey would do pass without comment, Mickey just wanted to grab him and tell him that it wasn’t okay. Except every time he tried the words got caught in his throat. He knew that there needed to be more of a confession to go with it and he wasn’t sure he could do that.

Looking at Ian and seeing his smile - his fucking amazing boyfriends smile - Mickey knew that he couldn’t shove it aside anymore. He needed his Ian back, not this weird half-version of him. So he gritted his teeth and prepared himself.

“I mean, this boyfriend shit you’re doing all the time,” Mickey tried to explaining, “You don’t gotta do it.”

Ian’s smile fell and he shifted to sit slightly further away from Mickey, “What does that mean?”

Mickey was fucking this up. He had never been very eloquent and it seemed that would always be his downfall. “Not the boyfriend thing,” Mickey corrected, rubbing a hand over his face, “Obviously I want you to do the boyfriend thing, just not all this fluffy fucking shit.”

Ian wrinkled his forehead, thinking over Mickey’s words, “Sex is fluffy shit?” He asked slowly.

Mickey groaned and dropped back onto the bed, wracking through his brain for the right words before he finally said, “You’re freaking out. You’ve been freaking out since we got in that fight on Christmas and you don’t need to.”

Ian looked away from Mickey then, taking his turn to focus on hands in his lap, “Oh.”

“Fuck,I was just mad about Aaron,” Mickey explained, “I didn’t need you to turn into a fucking Stepford Wife and I don’t want you doing this shit,” he motioned with one hand between himself and Ian and the bed, “unless you want to do this shit.”

Ian turned to look at Mickey and scoffed, “You think I’m just doing this for you?”

Mickey shrugged, it kind of seemed that way when Mickey had come home to find Ian playing out one of his favorite fantasies.

“You fucking-” Ian stopped short of whatever he was going to say, instead choosing a different direction when he said, “I didn’t even know you were going to be home.”

“So, what, you just jerk off in my bed when I’m not home?” Mickey asked, he kept his tone stern, but the idea of Ian doing that in his bed - more than the one time - that was weirdly fucking hot.

Ian blushed furiously, turning his head away from Mickey as he mumbled, “I was going to take some pictures for you but then I heard you come in and thought it might be better this way.”

Mickey was pretty sure he momentarily lost his mind as he imagined having those images not just in his memory, but on his phone and readily available anytime he wanted to look at them. Yeah, that was something he could definitely get behind.

His momentary pause ended and Mickey collected himself, “I told you, you don’t gotta do shit for me, not unless you really want to.”

Ian sighed and nodded, “Fuck, yeah, I have been panicking, I know, but I can’t help it. Look, maybe I don’t want to do everything I’ve been doing for you but I like making you happy. Making you happy, makes me happy.” He shuffled in closely to Mickey again, taking his hand and squeezing, “And when it comes to sex, I’ve never done something I didn’t want to, and turning you on is what turns me on.”

“Ian,” Mickey whispered, looking up shyly to meet his boyfriend's eyes, the conversation was starting to loose it’s track but Mickey couldn’t let it without saying at least something. He took a breath and said, “You don’t need to freak out about us, I like you being you and all the shit that comes with it.”

Well, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but it would have to do.

A bright smile bloomed on Ian’s face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Ian said, his grin turning into something more sly as he leaned over and said, “You know, now that we have that all cleared up,” His voice trailed off as he grabbed Mickey’s wrist, laying out on his back and pulling Mickey’s hand down to tease at his slick hole. Mickey groaned lowly as Ian said, “I’m still stretched out for you.”

Mickey circled his finger around the rim, watching as Ian’s eyelids fluttered at the sensation. Mickey licked his lips, pushing one digit in and admiring how Ian’s body responded; a sharp gasp leaving his lips as he clutched tightly at Mickey’s sheets.

Mickey leaned down to mouth at Ian’s chest, letting his lips travel wetly along Ian’s skin as added a second finger. Mickey kept his eyes on Ian, taking in every hitch of breath, the way his eyes rolled back, how he hissed with each twist and curl of Mickey’s fingers. When he found Ian’s prostate Ian moaned loudly and moved a hand from the sheets to grasp at Mickey’s hair, tangling his fingers through it and tugging Mickey up to slot their lips together.

It was a long, languid kiss filled with too much tongue and Ian’s panting breaths but Mickey loved it. He loved Ian like this, on the edge, giving himself over completely to his desire and to Mickey. It was amazing.

“Turn over,” Mickey said softly in the space between his and Ian’s lips. He pulled his fingers out and rolled away from Ian, swiftly removing his remaining clothing before returning to Ian and running his hands over his exposed back.

Mickey started at the back of Ian’s neck and made his way down with his lips and tongue, hands massaging Ian sides and arms, as he tried to make every second of it perfect for him. Mickey sucked a bruise on Ian’s lower back, admiring the dark shade and nipping it playfully before he continued down.

“Oh, fuck Mick,” Ian said once he realized what was happening, “Oh, fuck.”

Mickey reached his ass, spreading his cheeks with his hands before he delved in. His tongue darted out, just licking around the puckered hole and then sucking on it. Ian gasped loudly, reaching back to grab at Mickey’s hair once again. Mickey didn’t let Ian’s enthusiasm spur him on though, instead he continued a pattern of teasing him. He licked around the rim with the tip of his tongue, then a fat lick over the whole hole, then he would suck just for a second before repeating.

Ian was turning into a fast mess, his grip on Mickey’s hair became tighter the longer Mickey teased him.

“Please Mick,” Ian gasped, “God, fuck, please I need you so bad. I need you to fuck me so fucking bad.”

Mickey smirked and pulled back only far enough to lightly nip Ian’s left ass cheek. “And what do you want me to fuck you with?” Mickey asked, feigning a calm innocence when really his cock was heavy and leaking on the sheets and Mickey was craving relief so badly. “Fingers, tongue, or dick?”

Ian moaned obscenely, “All of it, everything.”

“Fucking greedy.”

Mickey dived back in, tongue working its way past Ian’s loosened rim easily and eliciting sharp pleased groans from Ian. He worked his tongue in and out, finding a steady pace and adding one finger to the mix. It was sloppy and Mickey’s jaw ached but the noises Ian was making continued to drive him on. He almost sounded like a fucking porn star and, fuck, was it ever hot.

“Stop, stop,” Ian said suddenly, pushing Mickey away and gasping for breath. He looked over his shoulder and must have seen the concern on Mickey’s face when he said, “I almost came, fuck.”

Mickey grinned and gripped Ian’s hips, drawing him up onto his knees with Mickey until they were flush with Ian’s back to Mickey’s front.

“Isn’t the whole point?” Mickey asked, mouthing at the juncture between Ian’s neck and shoulder. He started grinding against Ian’s ass, unable to hold back a groan at how good it was to finally feel friction on his aching cock.

Ian closed his eyes, leaning his head back to rest on Mickey’s shoulder and giving him more room to kiss and suck. “Not before your dick is in my ass.”

Mickey hummed in agreement, “You’re like a fucking poet.”

Mickey shuffled both himself and Ian forward until they’re knelt in front of the headboard. He spread Ian’s knees just a bit further apart until his ass was perfectly in line with Mickey’s cock. He placed a final kiss on Ian’s shoulder and asked, “You ready?”

Ian’s nod was all Mickey needed before he was grabbing a condom and the bottle of lube, getting himself ready quickly and pressing himself behind Ian’s back a second later.

Mickey grabbed Ian’s hands, bringing them up to grasp onto the headboard and whispered, “Hold on tight.”

Mickey lined himself up, gripping Ian’s hips as he slowly pushed in, giving Ian time to adjust and get used to the feeling. Mickey paused as soon as his dick was completely sheathed, kissing the back of Ian’s neck and waiting for a sign that he was ready to keep going. As much as he and Ian both liked it when Ian bottomed, it still wasn’t something they did very often and Mickey always wanted Ian to feel as comfortable as possible.

Ian nudged Mickey’s cheek with his nose, a sign that he was good to go, and Mickey pulled back out nearly completely only to slam back in a moment later. Ian groaned and pushed back against Mickey, eager for everything Mickey gave him. Mickey repeated the motion, pulling out and pushing back in, keeping each thrust hard as he progressively picked up the pace.

Mickey could barely stand how good it was, the perfect tight pressure his dick mixed with the low breathy noises Ian was making, his neck twisted around to attack Mickey’s mouth with sloppy kisses. They were sweaty and messy and tangled together so perfectly. Every time with Ian was always the best time with Ian but Mickey was almost positive that this really was the best.

Mickey felt his orgasm beginning to approach and used one hand to brush across Ian’s stomach. He grasped Ian’s dick tightly and started jerking him in a shaky rhythm, completely out of sync with his thrusts. Mickey tried but he was losing it completely, caught up in the feel of Ian surrounding him.

Mickey came first, gasping into the back of Ian’s neck and filling the condom. He didn’t take a moment to breathe though, instead he pulled out quickly and replaced his dick with three fingers, curling them just right to rub against Ian’s prostate. Ian spilled into Mickey’s fist, coming hard, a minute later. He collapsed back against Mickey, breathing heavily. Mickey brushed his hand through Ian’s damp and sweaty hair, kissing his temple and laughing.

“Fuck, that was good.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, eyes closed and breathing evening out, “Pretty sure my entire purpose on earth is just to have sex with you.”

Mickey smiled and laughed again, “That’s a really good purpose.”

Ian hummed, smiling sleepily, “I think so too.”

* * *

The next day it was like the past week never happened.

Ian is snoring loudly next to Mickey when he wakes up, sprawled with an arm over Mickey’s chest and his leg hooked to one of Mickey’s at the ankle. Mickey smiled fondly at him, basking in the chance to just admire his sleeping boyfriend for the first time in a week instead of watching him bustle around getting things ready.

Ian looked kind of dumb when he slept. His neck was at a weird angle and his mouth was open, drool on the pillow and his eyes had the tiniest slit of white showing through his eyelids which was a bit creepy, but Mickey also loved that. He loved that Ian looked dumb when he slept and he was more than content to watch his stupid looking face for hours and hours. It was just one of many things that only happened with Ian.

Mickey’s stomach growled loudly and he realized that he might not be able to ignore it. He glanced at the clock, it was nearly six in the morning, and Ian likely wouldn’t wake up for another hour now that he wasn’t trying to get up early. Mickey hated that his body woke him up so early no matter what, especially since neither he nor Ian worked that day and days when neither of them worked were rarely spent out of the bedroom.

Mickey sighed deeply and resigned himself to rolling out of bed. He quickly slipped out of the bedroom, making sure not to wake Ian, and padded into the kitchen. He looked around the bare kitchen, he would miss Ian making him breakfast every morning, that was probably the one major upside to Ian’s freak-out. Mickey opened the fridge, admiring the full stocked shelves as his eyes were drawn to bacon, sausages, and eggs.

Sure, he wasn’t a great cook but maybe it was his turn to deliver Ian a good breakfast.

It didn’t take long to get the bacon frying and sausages in another pan. He cracked a couple eggs into measure cup, mixing them up with a fork. He remembered a few months earlier when Ian told him that his preferred type of eggs was scrambled, Mickey had squished up his nose at that and told him he was missing out on the full breakfast experience if he didn’t get Sunnyside up, but Ian had stuck to his guns.

Mickey put the mixture down and yawned, glancing at the coffee maker and sighing deeply when he saw that it was still brewing. His body may wake up on it’s on at six in the morning but Mickey’s mind needed a caffeinated boost to really start running.

Soon the bacon and sausages were done, both types of eggs frying in separate pans while Mickey sipped at his coffee. He almost laughed when he looked down at the plates, realizing that they were made up of only meat, eggs, and two slices of bread each. It reminded him of the last time he made breakfast with Liam on Christmas morning.

Only one food group missing.

He hadn’t seen any of Ian’s family since Christmas but he starting to think that maybe he should see if Ian wanted to invite Liam to the park or for lunch or something. Mickey didn’t like kids normally, but he did like that kid. Maybe because of how much Liam reminded him of Ian, but he figured that probably wasn’t a bad thing.

He piled the eggs onto each of the plates, pouring Ian’s coffee into a mug and struggling to find a way to carry everything. He grabbed both plates, then stared at both mugs of coffee unhappily. He could try to balance the plates on his arms like waiters did (and like Ian and Mandy both seemed to be able to do) but he figured that would probably end with broken plates and breakfast on the floor.

“Mick?” Ian sleepy voice called out from the bedroom and Mickey grumbled, deciding to give up on taking everything in one trip.

“Mickey!”

“One fucking second,” Mickey shouted, already walking down the hall. He felt a little timid as he walked through the doorway holding the plates, seeing Ian still laying out on the bed with his eyes closed. “Are you seriously yelling for me while you’re still sleeping?”

Ian had a slow sleepy smile and took a deep breath through nose, his eyebrows scrunched together suddenly, “Is that bacon?” He opened his eyes and soon his stupid blinding smile was taking up his whole face, “You made me breakfast.”

Mickey shuffled from one foot to the other, barely resisting the urge scratch his nose just to have something to hide his face behind. “Yeah,” Mickey shrugged one shoulder and walked over to the bed, holding out a plate for Ian. “Now take this, I gotta get the coffee.”

Ian sat up and took the plate from Mickey’s outstretched hand, only reaching out for Mickey once Mickey had placed the other plate on the side table. He grabbed Mickey’s wrist and pulled him in close enough that their noses were brushing.

“You know, you don’t have to do this shit for me.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up and he clicked his tongue, “Such a fucking smartass.”

Ian closed the distance between them with a chaste kiss and said, “You’re amazing, thank you.”

Mickey audibly swallowed and nodded, pulling back from Ian and pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Coffee,” He said quickly and rushed out the room.

When he got back into the room Ian was licking his lips and frowning.

“What?” Mickey asked, putting the coffee mugs down and crawling into bed.

“The bacon,” Ian said, opening and closing his mouth like he was still tasting something, “It’s kind of burnt.”

Mickey shrugged, “It’s a little crispy.”

Ian gave him a skeptical look and held up a piece of the very, very dark and a little crumbly bacon. “This is burnt to shit,” Ian said, straight faced and holding Mickey’s gaze.

“I made you breakfast,” Mickey started. Sure, that bacon was probably burnt to shit and Mickey had to admit that he wasn’t actually that good at cooking (or any good at cooking) but he also wasn’t letting Ian get away with that. “I slaved in the fucking kitchen for you and this is the thanks I get?” He could feel his lips twitching and quirking at the corners, unable to keep a straight face at how ridiculous he felt. “That’s it, never cooking for you again - not now, not fucking ever.”

Ian pouted dramatically, pushing his plate aside and crawling over top of Mickey. “Bet I could change your mind,” he whispered and soon he was kissing Mickey deeply, hands traveling all over his naked torso and pulling off his boxers.

The food was long cold before they ever got back to it but Mickey was sure it was the best breakfast he’d ever had.

* * *

There was some movie playing on the television when Mickey woke up, he was stretched out half on top of Ian and his cheek pressed against Ian’s chest. Ian had draped a blanket over top of them and had one hand under Mickey’s shirt idly stroking his back. It felt good and warm, Mickey thought it was probably one of the best ways to wake up, the only thing making it better was Ian’s gentle smile when Mickey opened his eyes.

“I must have tired you out, huh?” Ian teased.

Mickey didn’t even have it in him to make a witty comment, just nodded and nuzzled back against Ian’s chest.

They had spent the day together, taking a break after their second round in bed to go outside. It wasn’t really starting warm up yet but Ian insisted that spring was fast approaching and that they enjoy the first hints of warmth, even if there was still snow on the ground. After a long walk Ian had started to complain about the cold (fucking typical) so they had gone to Ian’s apartment since it was a bit closer and there was an amazing classic deep dish Chicago pizza place on the way. The whole day turned out to be more exhausting than expected (or a different type of exhausting) and Mickey had collapsed onto the couch, passing out almost immediately after he had eaten.

Ian laughed and kissed the top of Mickey’s head, “You’re too damn cute.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey mumbled into Ian’s shirt, “‘m not fucking cute.”

“Yeah, you are,” Ian said, returning to stroking Mickey’s back.

Mickey hummed and settled back into his comfortable spot, listening to Ian’s steady heartbeat and the quiet noise from the television in the background. He knew he should probably get up and go to bed. It was late and he worked early, but if he were to actually commit to going to sleep that would mean leaving Ian out on the couch and curling up in an empty bed. And there was fucking nothing appealing about a cold, empty bed.

So Mickey didn’t move. He stayed cuddled up against Ian, eyes closed but still awake, until the movie end and Ian began to shift around.

“Hey, you awake?” Ian whispered.

Mickey nodded, “Been awake the whole fucking time.”

Ian laughed lowly and kissed Mickey’s temple, “Why didn’t you go to bed, you know you’ll be grumpy as shit tomorrow?”

Mickey groaned and looked up, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, “I didn’t want to, didn’t want to leave.”

Mickey waited for Ian to keep bugging him, telling him that he needed to sleep, or babying him and offering to take him to bed and tuck him in. It always tended to be one or the other these days.

Instead Ian just stared at him for a long moment and said, “I don’t like it when you leave, ever.”

Mickey frowned, “Alright,” He said and looked away from Ian’s determined gaze, feeling uncomfortable from the unwavering strength of it.

“That probably sounded weird,” Ian admitted, “I just have something I think I should tell you.”

Mickey glanced back at Ian, he still looked so determined but it was like a nervous energy was vibrating through him. Mickey thought that maybe he should be concerned, serious talks rarely led anywhere good in relationships, but the way Ian seemed made him think it might not be so bad. It was just that the total blindside of Chris’ breakup still weighed heavy on his mind, and the fight with Ian over Christmas was still fresh in Mickey’s mind.

“Okay,” Mickey said cautiously.

“Okay,” Ian nodded and swallowed, preparing himself for whatever he would say, “I want you to live with me.”

Mickey froze.

“What?”

“Live with me,” Ian continued, his determined expression starting to fade into uncertainty, “You moving in here, or us finding our own place, probably not your apartment because you lived there with Chris and I think that could be weird.”

Mickey stayed frozen, mouth tightly shut as he racked his brain for something to say.

He could live with Ian.

“I mean, if you really want to live there then we can,” Ian added quickly, “I just thought it might be fucking strange but sometimes people have an emotional attachment to the places they live and that’s fine. I could live there - with you.”

He could wake up every morning with Ian in their bed, in their apartment.

Ian saw that Mickey still wasn’t speaking or moving and continued, worry completely overtaking his features, “You don’t have to. It’s just what I want and you don’t have to. There is no pressure, I know it’s a big step and it’s probably too soon.”

Ian fucking Gallagher, the love of his fucking life, wanted to live with him.

Ian backtracked all his words, finally looking away from Mickey, “Fuck, this was too soon, shit, fuck, sorry. That was really fucking stupid.”

Holy fucking shit.

“It’s not,” Mickey said, finally finding his voice.

Ian’s speech was suddenly startled to a stop as he looked up at Mickey with wide eyes, “What?”

“Stupid,” Mickey said softly, “It’s not stupid. It’s…”

His voice trailed off as he tried to think of the right word to encompass all that he was feeling. He didn’t think there was one that could describe the bursting feeling in his chest.

“It’s?” Ian prompted.

“I don’t know,” Mickey finally admitted, “It’s just - it’s good.”

“Good, meaning?”

Mickey growled and dropped down to rest more fully against Ian, he was stuck trying to express his emotions and feeling wholly incapable. Once again he was left wondering what the fucking problem was. Everything with Ian had always been so fucking easy, why wasn’t this part? And then he realized what it was.

Chris, because it all came back to fucking douchebag Chris. It took him two and half years before he let Chris move in and before that everything had seemed fine. They had their problems, but they were solid and Chris was happy with Mickey. All of the shit Chris had dumped him for had always just been a small bump for them to get over until they lived together.

A small bump that he and Ian had just hit the month before.

Fuck, he wanted to live with Ian, but he couldn’t stand the idea of losing Ian.

Of Ian realizing that he wasn’t enough all along.

“Mick,” Ian said, massaging the back of Mickey’s neck with one large hand, “I don’t want to push you, but I think I know what you’re saying and I don’t want to jump to conclusions, so I kind of need you to say something.”

“Fuck,” Mickey grumbled and looked back up at Ian, “I want that, I think, fuck - it’s fucking good.”

Ian lit up immediately, grinning widely and planting a deep kiss on Mickey’s lips. Mickey hesitated for a second, and just a second too long because Ian froze and drew back when he realized Mickey’s lackluster response.

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?” Ian asked, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

Mickey took a slow, deep breath, “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“What page should I be on?” Ian asked, his tone a strange mixture of teasing and concerned.

Mickey sat up then, Ian matching his movements as they settled on the couch seated opposite to each other with their backs against the arm rests. Ian didn’t look as excited anymore and Mickey’s heart ached knowing that he had wiped that joy away with just one sentence, but he knew that this would be for the best. He just needed to make sure that Ian knew what he was getting into, because if Ian was going to leave him… fuck, it was already too late, he just really didn’t want Ian to leave him.

“I’m not gonna be any different if I move in here,” Mickey began, figuring it was best to just dive in head first.

“I don’t want you to be any different,” Ian said, “Believe it or not, I kind of like you the way you are.”

Mickey’s lips twitched at the corners, fuck Ian and his ability to make everything he said so damn sweet. “I don’t want you to change either,” Mickey continued, “Fuck, I mean, you can change because everyone fucking does, but I just don’t want you to suddenly be a different person just ‘cause we live together.”

Ian pressed his lips tightly together, pausing for a short moment before he said, “You mean like this last month? We talked about this and it’s good, we’re good, right?”

Mickey nodded, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Great, then it’s all good,” Ian said with a soft smile.

“I’m not a clean guy,” Mickey added.

Ian shrugged, “I’m not either.”

“I’m not eating any of your shitty healthy food.”

“More for me then.”

“I like to spend my days off in bed.”

“Well, I really like you in bed.”

“I think decorating is fucking stupid.”

“Have you seen my apartment?”

“I take long showers.”

“I’ll take them with you.”

“I’m not learning how to cook.”

“Perfect, I’ll learn or we’ll just eat take out all the fucking time,” Ian scooted forward on the couch, placing a hand on Mickey’s cheek, “Why are you acting like this is all new information? We haven’t spent a day apart since we started dating, I know all your bad habits and I still can’t get enough of them.” Ian leaned forward, kissing Mickey softly, “So what is this about?”

Mickey fidgeted, pulling at the sleeve on his sweater and refusing to meet Ian’s eyes, “Just don’t want you thinking that you want this now and changing your mind later.”

“Oh, Mickey,” Ian reached out to grab onto Mickey’s arms, carefully maneuvering him until he sat between Ian’s legs with his back flush to Ian’s chest. “I’m not going to change my mind, not about you or living together. I’m not him, I’m not going to do that to you. I don’t just tolerate your faults, Mickey, I love them.”

Mickey blinked and looked up at Ian, “You what?”

“Love them,” Ian answered with a half-smile, the brightness from earlier returning to his face, “A lot, actually. Kind of as much as I love you.” He kissed Mickey’s cheek then rested his forehead against the side of Mickey’s head, smiled and said, “This isn’t just a for now thing, you aren’t temporary, you’re fucking _it_. Maybe it’s early to feel this way, but I’ve known since I met you. I love you, Mickey, and I just really want to live with you.”

Mickey felt like his heart was bursting at the seams. God, he had no idea how amazing hearing those words could be until he heard them from Ian’s lips. He opened his mouth, preparing to say them back and found his throat dry. Fuck, he wanted to say them so badly, needed for Ian to hear them, but he felt stuck.

He’d only said them to one other person before and look how that turned out.

“It’s alright,” Ian whispered, still smiling, “I don’t need to hear it back, just tell me, do you want to live with me?”

Mickey turned his head, finally meeting Ian’s eyes and nodding, “Yeah, I want to fucking live with you.”

Ian pulled him into deep kiss and Mickey poured everything into it. Maybe he couldn’t get the words out yet, but he wanted Ian to know just how much Mickey did love him, and if he couldn’t say then he would just have to show it.

And then someday, he would say it back.

* * *

Mickey finished taping another box and scribbled ‘Random Crap’ on the top of it. Ian had told him that labelling was important because it made unpacking easier but Mickey didn’t really get it. He had to open all the boxes anyways so why would he need to label them? Which was why all the boxes Mickey packed ended up labeled as ‘Random Crap’ or some other variation of the words.

Mickey lifted the box and walked out of his bedroom and into the living room, stacking the box on top of the others and sighing loudly when he realized how much more there still was to do.

“Why do you have so many books?” Ian groaned loudly from across the room, “Do you even read books?”

Mickey snorted and shuffled over to Ian, sitting on the couch next to where Ian’s back rested against it as he sat on the floor. Mickey smiled fondly at Ian’s desperate and exasperated expression, resting his hand on the back of Ian’s neck and squeezing lightly.

“Yeah, jackass, I read books.”

Ian hummed, “I’ve never seen you read a book.”

Mickey grinned, moving his hand to trail a finger up the length of Ian’s neck and along his jaw, “Got better things to do when you’re around.”

Ian looked up from under his lashes, a playful smirk on his lips as he said, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re looking for an excuse not to pack.”

Mickey chuckled, tongue swiping out to moisten his lower lip as he used a finger on Ian’s chin to tip his head back. “Good thing you know better, huh?” Mickey said then dipped his head, kissing Ian chastely at first and then deeper when Ian grabbed the back of his neck to pull him in closer.

“We gotta pack, Mick,” Ian said, lips brushing lightly against Mickey’s with each word.

Mickey pulled Ian back in, tongue delving past his lips and drawing a low moan from Ian. Mickey trailed a hand down the neck of his shirt and flicked a nipple with his fingers, making Ian gasp and bow his back.

Mickey was just about ready to drop onto the floor and tear away every piece of clothing Ian was wearing, then Ian placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back roughly.

“We gotta pack,” Ian insisted with a stern look.

Mickey groaned and dropped his head back against the couch, sadly accepting that he probably wasn’t getting his dick wet anytime soon. It was a fucking shame too because he was really, really into the way that Ian looked when he was dressed down in an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt that was just a little too tight. The random patches dust and dirt on him just made the whole ensemble that much better.

“This fucking sucks,” Mickey said.

Ian started picking up books again, stacking them neatly in the box next to him. “You know,” He started, causing Mickey to snort; he was already aware of how the sentence would end. “If you had just told Mandy and asked her for help then we may have already been done.”

Mickey pushed himself away from where he sat back against the couch cushions, instead leaning forward, elbows rested on his knees as he met Ian’s eye level. “First, Mandy is never allowed to go through my shit. She’s nosey as fuck and permission to pack my shit would be a fucking goldmine.” Ian laughed, no doubt aware of how true Mickey’s words were. Mickey held up two fingers for Ian to see, “Second, she would just end up drinking and distracting you, so we would probably have less done if she was here. Third,” he lifted another finger, expression softening when he said, “I want to be living with you when I tell her.”

It was stupid but Mickey was terrified of something going wrong. Ian had reassured him but he was still paranoid that if anyone were to pop his and Ian’s little bubble of solitude they wouldn’t actually make it to living together. Mandy probably wouldn’t be the problem, she hung out with them nearly every day but Mickey still couldn't help himself from being scared. He just needed this move to go perfectly and then after that he needed living together to go perfectly; just everything had to go fucking smoothly and perfectly.

He couldn’t afford to screw up again.

And Ian, being the amazing type of guy he was, understood that.

“We can have a house warming party,” Ian teased, one of his large hands wrapping around Mickey’s ankle, his thumb brushing back and forth against Mickey’s skin.

“For one person to come over?”

“And my brothers and sisters,” Ian replied with a cheeky grin, “Just a family event.”

Mickey huffed and kissed the top of Ian’s head, mussing up the hair at the back a bit as he did. “Yeah, alright, we’ll do that.”

Ian went back to sorting through the books with Mickey combing through his hair as he relaxed on the couch. Mickey imagined that this would be what living with Ian would be like. The sun setting and shining through the window, innocent touches as they sat together enjoying silent company without needing it to be more. He found that even just one day like that was probably all he’d been looking for his whole life.

He thought maybe, if they sat long enough, he might be able to work up the courage to say those words.

Ian laughed loudly, interrupting the peace but Mickey didn’t mind. He raised his eyebrows when Ian looked back at him, still chuckling at whatever he had found.

“So, how often do you knit then?” Ian asked with a large grin, holding up a thin hardcover book with instructions for basic knitting. “I wasn’t aware that you were in your sixties,” Ian quipped.

Mickey wasn’t even sure where he had gotten the fucking thing, probably something he swiped when he was younger without really paying attention and then had never bothered to get rid of it. Mickey snorted, amused by the look of pure joy on Ian’s face at the discovery.

He shoved the back of Ian’s head lightly, “Fucking asshole.”


	15. fifteen.

Mickey walked out of his bedroom early in the morning, he sighed deeply at the sight of boxes strewn throughout his apartment. It had been three solid days of packing (plus a couple well-deserved breaks) and Mickey was fucking tired of it. He was tired of cardboard, tape, newspaper, and going through his shit. He was honestly just about ready to burn everything and move on.

They were getting to close to having all of Mickey’s things tucked away in boxes though and then it would just be moving, something Mickey was becoming more and more excited about as the days went by.

Ian was already up and working out in an empty space by the couch when Mickey walked into the open main room. He was shirtless and doing push ups, a sight that Mickey really loved in the morning. Mickey kept his eyes on Ian as he walked, licking his lips but imagining licking up Ian's spine. He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured himself some coffee, making up a bowl of Lucky Charms and sitting down at the counter where he had a perfect view of his boyfriend's muscular back and ass.

Fuck, he was a beautiful man.

It wasn’t even just Ian's body; it was his smile slowly spreading and dimpling his cheeks, his eyes lighting up and shining so brilliantly when he laughed, his lips when they formed Mickey’s name or - Mickey’s new favorite - ‘I love you’. Fuck, it was every little thing about him all coming together to create a better man than Mickey ever would have been able to imagine.

Whenever Mickey thought about it he couldn’t stop smiling. When he was a teenager he never thought his life could end up like this, fuck, even five months ago he never thought his life could become this. Being with Ian made things better though, made him see a world full of opportunity instead of disappointment.

It was incredible how easily Ian turned Mickey into an unbelievable sap. Which didn’t bother Mickey so long as he was a sap that Ian loved and wanted to live with. But honestly, Mickey had just been trying to admire the view and somehow it had turned into a lovefest - the fucking things Ian did to him.

Ian turned his head to look over at Mickey, hair damp with sweat as he did crunches, punching up into the air twice every time he was up.

“Creeper,” Ian joked with a breathy laugh.

Mickey snickered, “You’re the one doing it in my living room, looking is fair game.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian said, grinning widely as he stood up and walked over to the bedroom door where he had placed a pull-up bar. “Better give you something good to look at then.”

Mickey licked his lower lip again, fucking Ian knew he loved that exercise, the way his biceps would bulge and his abs would tense. Yeah, it was fucking hot. Mickey sat back, eating another spoonful of cereal and drinking in the scene before him. There really was no better way to start a day.

Mickey’s phone dinged on the counter but Mickey ignored it in favour of eating his food and continuing to stare at Ian. It was just a text message, probably from Mandy, so it could wait. His phone dinged again a minute later and then thirty seconds after that. Mickey eyed his phone, annoyed by the distraction but also curious. Mandy never texted him that many times unless it was something important (or something she deemed important) and unless Ian had let it slip that they were moving in together, he couldn’t imagine what that was.

He put his bowl of Lucky Charms on the counter, taking one last long look at Ian’s glistening arms and chest, and regrettably picked up his phone. He swiped the screen and frowned when he read the messages.

**[Chris 6:04am]**   
_Need to talk. Can we meet up?_

**[Chris 6:05am]  
** _It’s important._

**[Chris 6:05am]  
** _Please_

Mickey stared at the messages, clutching his phone in his hand tightly. He hadn’t heard from Chris since the day he had bumped into him a couple months earlier. He’d forgotten he even had Chris’ number in his phone. It seemed to so out of the blue and strange to suddenly have Chris contacting him again.

Mickey knew what he should be doing. He should delete the messages and erase Chris from his life because what reason could he have to be there anymore. He dumped Mickey, he cut Mickey out first and now here he is, actively contacting Mickey for the first time since he moved out and expecting Mickey to actually be there.

It was fucked up. Mickey didn’t owe him a damn thing.

Except it was Chris.

That wasn’t a good reason and Mickey knew it wasn’t a good reason but Chris had been such an important part of his life for so long, it was hard to turn off that small part of him that still cared and worried about his well-being. Mickey wasn’t that type of person, he knew that he wasn’t. He was all ride or die, once you’re in - you’re in, and being dumped didn’t seem to stop that.

Plus, Chris had never said ‘please’ before, not once, and that made Mickey really fucking worried.

**[Mickey 6:14am]**   
_where and when_

**[Chris 6:14am]  
** _5? At backalley?_

Backalley was an older bar that Mickey and Chris had gone to a couple times. It wasn’t the nicest place, the chairs were old and rickety, the whole place seemed like it was covered by a layer of dirt, and the drinks tasted like shit but it was close to the Garage Chris worked at.

Mickey felt Ian was pressing up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist as he mouthed at Mickey’s neck. Mickey sent a quick message letting Chris know he would be there and slide his phone away, leaning back into Ian.

“Thought you were working out?”

Ian hummed, pulling away only for a second, “It’s less fun when you’re not watching.”

Mickey laughed lightly, lifting a hand to run through Ian’s mussed and damp hair, “Such a fucking tease.”

“Is it really teasing if I have every intention to fuck you afterwards?” Ian pondered, one hand trailing down to toy with the waistband on Mickey’s boxers, “I think it’s just foreplay then.”

Mickey twisted his neck, capturing Ian’s lips and pulling him in. Every time their lips met felt like the first time, always so mind-boggling and outstanding. Mickey parted his lips further, tongue darting out to tangle with Ian’s and swipe in his mouth. Ian made a small pleased noise and lightly trailed a hand along the long expanse of Mickey’s neck, down to brush across his chest and stomach. Mickey could stay like this forever, attached at the lips to Ian, hands running all over and exploring each other’s bodies.

Unfortunately, life seemed to dictate that he couldn’t do that.

Mickey reluctantly pulled away, kissing Ian chastely once before drawing back completely. He nodded to the clock on the stove and huffed, “Gotta be at work in a half hour, so I guess it’s just teasing.”

Ian pouted, “I hate your work so much.”

Mickey smiled endeared by the pathetic display on Ian’s face, he probably looked dumb with the way he would watch Ian like he was the best damn thing in the world, but Mickey figured Ian was kind of the best damn thing in the world so that probably made it okay.

“The feeling is mutual,” Mickey said, kissing Ian again and sliding off his seat to go change. The twenty minute commute meant that he needed to leave soon. “Oh, and I might be late getting back,” Mickey said, turning back to face Ian.

Ian nodded and swallowed, having taken over Mickey’s abandoned bowl of cereal and chewing on heaping spoonful’s, “They making you work late again?”

Mickey bit his lower lip and nodded, he wondered if he looked guilty.

Mickey knew he should tell Ian about Chris’ text and how he was meeting up with him, just to make sure that he was okay - nothing else - but after everything that had happened the past month he wasn’t sure he could. If he told Ian what was happening he knew it would just turn into another argument with Ian’s insecurities bubbling up and Mickey’s anger boiling over.

It didn’t seem worth it.

Mickey went to his room, changing quickly into his grubby work clothes and brushing his hair into a somewhat decent hairstyle (even though it was actually still just a mess). He walked into the kitchen grabbing his jacket and keys before he swung around to where Ian was and kissed him quickly.

“See you after work?” Mickey questioned as Ian drew him into a longer second kiss. Usually Mickey would meet Ian for lunch somewhere but Ian didn’t work and with all the packing that still needed to be done Ian had decided he would just stay in and power through.

“I’ll be here,” Ian smiled and smoothed down some of Mickey’s hair, “Love you, have a good day.”

Mickey beamed and shuffled out of his apartment. The large toothy smile took up most of his face the entire commute to his work.

There were worse ways to start his day.

* * *

Mickey walked into Backalley that evening and was disappointed to see the place hadn’t changed a bit. The walls were still just a dark, cracking concrete and the lighting was a bit too bright to be comfortable for a bar. The place seemed more like a warehouse than a bar, Mickey had always assumed the place went for sale after being a factory or some shit and some guy bought it thinking that a bar would be easy money.

The owner was clearly a fucking idiot because the place never had more than five people in it at a time, including the bartender.

He walked up to the bar and ordered a beer, whatever was cheapest on tap, before making his way to the table in the back corner that he and Chris used to sit at every time they came.

He remembered the first time they had come there, it was two years earlier, Chris had just gotten his new job after leaving a place with a shitty boss and they were celebrating (he wasn’t that bad of boss, maybe a bit rude and stubborn, but Chris had been spoiled with really good bosses his whole life, so it made a big difference). Mickey had swung by Chris’ work to pick him up after his first shift. Mickey was already a bit drunk by that point, having chugged half a mickey of Jack Daniels on the way there. Mickey had pulled Chris down an alley just a block away from his work, he’d gotten Chris to chug the rest of the Jack while Mickey dropped to his knees and blew him. Chris had jerked Mickey off after, leaving both of them in an alcohol fueled, post-orgasm haze that led them to walking out the wrong end of the alley.

They were a bit lost on their way back to Murphy’s and stumbled across Backalley. Mickey had bugged Chris, saying that he just wanted a fucking drink already and even though Chris had promised Mandy they would be at Murphy’s he agreed that beer was a necessity that he couldn’t go much longer without.

Mickey smiled down at the table, remembering how he had Chris had drank a good portion of the bar, spending more money than they should have getting so fucked up that they ended up sleeping on a park bench. The hangover in the morning had been a fucking bitch and Mickey hadn’t remembered much of the night but Chris swore on his life that it was the first place that Mickey had ever kissed him in public (other than a gay club) so it was officially ‘their’ bar.

Looking back at it, Mickey probably should have noticed Chris’ dissatisfaction with their relationship much earlier.

Mickey took a long drink from his glass and noticed Chris walking into the bar as he drew the glass away from his lips. He waved curtly even though it wasn’t necessary, Chris had already known where he would be sitting.

Unlike the first time Chris asked Mickey to meet him, Chris looked really fucking tired. There were bags under his red-rimmed eyes, his hair was greasy and disheveled, his glasses perched on his nose, and patchy facial hair was starting to grow, covering his chin and jawline. He usually looked so much more put together and it only served to make Mickey even more concerned.

Chris sat down opposite to Mickey and smiled tightly, “Hey.”

“Uh, hey,” Mickey said, clearing his throat.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

Mickey nodded, looking away from Chris and clicking his tongue, “Yeah, the fuck am I doing this for?”

Chris laughed and rubbed the stubble on his chin, “The fuck would I know? You were the one who agreed.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes, “Tell me fucking why, Chris, or I’m leaving.” He really didn’t have the patience for Chris’ shit. He was only there to make sure Chris wasn’t about to jump out any windows and then he was on his way.

“See he didn’t manage to mellow you out any,” Chris mumbled under his breath, but Mickey caught it. He was about to snap, asking what the fuck he meant by that, when Chris started to speak, “I went and talked to Mandy the other day, about a week ago, she was talking about you and your boyfriend.”

Mickey tensed, he wasn’t sure where the conversation was heading but he got the feeling it wouldn’t be somewhere he liked.

“She said you guys are still going strong and that’s,” Chris paused and shook his head, “Really fucking great for you and him.”

“Ian,” Mickey corrected coolly, “You know his name; use it.”

Chris nodded and swallowed, “Right, you and Ian. Ian and Mickey - boyfriends.”

“You got a point you’re trying to get to?” Mickey prompted, raising his eyebrows judgmentally as Chris stumbled through his sentences. He was drunk, or at least on his way to being drunk, and probably high. Mickey remember well how shitty of a combination the two substances were in Chris’ system; he would no doubt have a killer hangover in the morning.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Chris continued, nodding again and pointing at Mickey, “Mandy told me about how you two are cute and how you fucking cuddle and kiss and he stays over at your place, you stay over his, you go running with him.” Chris rubbed his face harshly with one hand, his glasses pushing up and landing awkwardly on his nose.

“Chris-”

“I miss you,” Chris said, meeting Mickey’s eyes, his wide and sincere. “I wake up in my bed alone every morning and all I can think is how badly I want you there. Or when I see something stupid or funny, I just want to fucking text you or talk to you.”

Mickey was stunned into silence, the conversation taking a turn he never expected. He felt one of Chris’ fingers brushing over his the knuckles of his hand that rest on top of the table, tracing the shapes of the letters. The action was so familiar that Mickey hardly noticed it was strange that it was happening.

“I fucked up when I broke up with you, I shouldn’t have done that,” Chris continued, his voice sounding wetter as he continued, like he was on the edge of a sob. “I’m going to regret it forever if I don’t tell you so, I fucked up. I was just mad but there wasn’t a good reason for it, you just needed time and I could’ve waited for you.”

“What?” Mickey croaked, breaking his silence.

“It was a mistake, such a big fucking mistake. I need you, Mickey, I need you.” Chris’ eyes were filling with unshed tears as he reached out placing his hands on either side of Mickey’s face, “I still love you, so damn much.”

Chris leaned across the table, lips brushing softly against Mickey’s for the first time in five months. The thing about it was that Mickey could barely focus on what was happening with Chris’ words still echoing through his mind, so much so that when Chris kissed him it was like his fingers brushing over Mickey’s knuckles - it was so damn familiar that it didn’t even feel wrong.

Mickey responded slowly, lips moving rhythmically against Chris’, and it was like no time had passed at all. Chris’ lips were chapped and cold, but it was still nice and good. The innocent brushes seemed so strange in comparison to Ian’s heated kisses, the ones that left Mickey burning and tingling from head to toe.

Mickey snapped back to himself at the thought of Ian and pulled away, harshly pushing Chris back into his seat.

“What the fuck?!” Mickey hissed, ran a hand through his hair, and looked away from Chris. He scanned the bar and found the last person he thought he would see. Across the bar and playing pool was Aaron, continually shooting Mickey unsubtle glances as he played.

“Fuck,” Mickey growled pushing away from the table and away from Chris, rushing outside the bar. He fished out his phone, trying to find Ian’s phone number as quickly as he could. The last fucking thing he needed today was Aaron calling or texting Ian to tattle on him.

“Mickey!” Chris yelled out, jogging to catch up with him on the street, “You’re just leaving?”

Mickey glanced up at Chris, “Yeah, fucking stings, doesn’t it?” He lifted his phone to his ear, waiting as he walked quickly for Ian to pick up.

“Seriously?” Chris asked, there was a growl to his voice that Mickey knew meant a fight was coming. “I told you that I love you and you just fucking walk out?”

Mickey spun around to face Chris, “I can’t even fucking believe this shit right now, are you being real here?”

The ringing stopped as Ian’s voicemail picked up and Mickey growled, hanging up and stuffing the phone in his pocket. He would just have to finish this quickly and get back to Ian and tell him before fucking Aaron could.

Mickey stepped forward and fixed Chris with a burning glare, “I told you that I loved you, for three fucking years, and then you decided that loving you just wasn’t enough. You remember that? You telling me that I was fucked up, too fucked up to date you, and I told you I loved you.” Mickey laughed bitterly, “And then you walked out on this,” he gestured between himself and Chris, “You walked out on me, you fucked up.”

“I know, fuck, Mickey, I already know that.” Chris argued, “I told you that.”

“Good for fucking you.”

Chris crossed his arms, shaking his head and looking down at the sidewalk, “This is about him, Ian, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, of course it’s about Ian!” Mickey snapped, “It’s about me and it’s about Ian. Being with him, I finally am fucking good and happy. Just being around him, it’s the best fucking thing that I could get. I’m better with him.”

“It’s not fair,” Chris scowled, “I spent years with you and now he gets everything I wanted from you? It’s not fair.”

“I never would have been like this for you,” Mickey said, lowering his voice and feeling satisfied at finally finding the root of why Chris was there. “It never would have happened with us, it’s just with him.”

“Fuck you,” Chris muttered, letting out a shuddering breath, “Fuck you, you fucking - fuck you. Don’t talk to me, ever again.”

Mickey clicked his tongue, “No problem,” and he flipped Chris off as he walked away for good measure.


	16. sixteen.

Mickey held his phone up to his ear, he clutched it so tightly in his hand he felt as though it might shatter. He tapped his foot impatiently growing tired of the incessant ringing as he waited for Ian to pick up once again. His call rang through to voicemail, Mickey cursed and put his hand over his face, his nerves were running rampant and his hands were nearly shaking. He wanted to fucking break something, he was ten seconds from that being his phone.

“Ian, I need you to call me back, okay? Even if you don’t want to just-” Mickey took a shaky breath, painfully aware of how bad this could be. “Please just call me back.”

He pulled his phone away, resting it in his lap and starting at the blank screen, waiting to see Ian’s name and face pop up. The minutes passed by slowly with no change, his mood was dropping further and further, mixing into a combination of dread and the desire for a murderous rampage. He closed his eyes and rested his head back, attempting to calm himself by imagining punching someone in the face, preferably Chris or Aaron, but it didn’t work as well as he thought it might.

If Aaron told Ian first… fuck. He was too terrified to even consider what might happen to him.

Mickey scratched at his scalp, messing up his hair, he looked out the window of the El and watched as the trees and buildings flew past in a blur. The ride was taking too fucking long. Mickey tried to tell himself it was going to be okay. He would talk to Ian and it would be okay. One fucking kiss didn’t mean anything, especially when Mickey didn’t even want it. It was a big fucking mistake to even check in on Chris, he should have known better than to think it could be anything other than an attempt at ruining Mickey’s fucking life. Ian would understand, Mickey would explain what happened and Ian would understand.

Ian’s always understood him better anyways, better than even Mickey understands himself.

But what if Ian didn’t give him the chance to explain? What if Mickey walked into his apartment and Ian was already gone, what would Mickey do? Chase him down, yell outside his door about how sorry he is, and beg for forgiveness. God, he would, he would do all of those things just to get a fucking chance to have Ian stay with him.

The El slowed down at Mickey’s stop and he was out of his seat and off the train like a shot. As soon as his feet touched concrete he was running. He didn’t have time to waste, too many thoughts and scenarios were circling in his brain and he couldn’t stop them. He just needed to get to Ian, to talk to Ian, to fix what Chris tried to break.

He couldn’t lose Ian.

_He couldn’t fucking lose Ian._

He saw his apartment building in the distance and started sprinting, dodging through the crowds of people who seemed to think it was a good idea to block off the entire sidewalk. He was almost hit by a bike at one point, just barely brushing past it and probably getting himself a bruise from where the bike handle knocked into his arm, but he didn’t stop. He had a goal and he was pausing or slowing for anything. He reached the front door finally, pulling out his keys and yanking open to heavy door. His footsteps echoed through the stairwell, heavy and loud, as he went. Mickey was out of breath and panting, he could feel the beads of sweat on his forehead and his body was thrumming, begging him to just fucking stop. The was his fucking karma for smoking too much and never bothering to work out, but like hell he was going to stop before Ian was in front of him.

He finally reached his floor and rushed to the doorway, pulling out his keys with shaky hands. He dropped the keys twice, cursing loudly both times, before getting them in the lock and bursting through the door. He didn’t see Ian at first and felt a jolt of panic. He scanned quickly through the piles and piles of boxes, circling around and looking further.

Fuck, he hoped Ian was still there.

Ian was still there, deep in the maze of boxes and sitting on the couch, staring down at his lap where he held his phone with both hands, a frown etched onto his lips.

“Fuck,” Mickey hissed and rushed over, kneeling in front of Ian and grabbing his hands. “Ian, Ian, listen to me, okay? It wasn’t anything, alright? It wasn’t fucking anything. Don’t listen to whatever the fuck Aaron is saying, it’s not true. I didn’t fucking do anything.”

Ian looked up from when Mickey’s hands were grasping his, eyebrows drawn together as he said, “I haven’t talked to Aaron since Christmas.”

Mickey’s heart dropped, his throat felt dry, “But, your phone…”

Ian held it up, the screen showing seven missed calls from Mickey, “It was in your bedroom charging while I packed, I heard the last ring and then saw all the missed calls.”

Shit. _Shit._

“What’s going on, Mick?” Ian asked, placing his phone aside on the couch cushions. He lifted a hand and brushed it through the soft hairs near Mickey’s temple, “Are you okay? You look freaked out.”

Mickey dropped Ian’s hands, dread settled over him as he realized that his paranoia was what was going to end up delivering him the loss he had been scared off. Mickey rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired and drained. His body was already drained from the rush back home and now he felt his mind beginning to collapse. He couldn’t do a fight now, he couldn’t lose Ian now. He felt a huge pull to lie - just tell Ian that he had punched Aaron or something, have Ian get mad at him for being jealous and then move on. It would be enough to sate Ian’s curiosity but not so much that - well, it wouldn’t be as bad. Except, what if Ian found out later? Mickey had already lied, he’d already betrayed Ian’s trust in the interest of ‘keeping the peace’ and now he was thinking of doing it again.

He was the king of destroying healthy relationships.

“Chris texted me this morning,” Mickey confessed quietly, “He was upset about something and I wanted to make he was okay, so I went for beers with him.” Mickey breathed in deeply, hating how he could already see Ian’s face dropping, “He, uh, he just want to talk about getting back together but I told him no, so.”

Ian nodded, keeping his gaze away from Mickey as if he couldn’t stand to look at him, “That all?”

Ian’s mood had already shifted so quickly that Mickey was almost ready to lie again, but instead he breathed in shakily and said, “He, uhm, he kissed me but that’s all, that’s fucking it.”

Ian laughed but it lacked humor, almost sounding damp and choked, “That’s fucking it, huh? _Fuck._ ”

“Ian-”

“You kiss him back?” Ian voice was loud and clear, his eyes practically burning and locked onto Mickey.

“No,” Mickey said quickly, then huffed and clenched his fist, that was just more lies. “Fuck, maybe a bit, but it was all just muscle memory or some shit. I didn’t want to. It didn’t mean anything, Ian, he doesn’t mean anything to me and it was just a boring, stupid kiss.”

Ian nodded and rubbed his hands on his jeans covering his thighs. He didn’t look angry, not yet, he looked exhausted and worn out. Mickey wasn’t sure what to do with that, he didn’t know where that left them. Angry he could handle, shouting and punching, that was how he did fights and disagreements. But this? He didn’t know where Ian’s head was at, he didn’t know how to make it better or where to even start. All he knew was that Ian’s face hurt his heart and he would give anything just to see him smile again. His knees were starting to ache from where he sat on the floor and his throat was dry but he didn’t dare move. He wasn’t leaving Ian’s side until he was sure that they were okay again.

Or until Ian forced him to leave.

Ian stood, grabbing his phone off the couch and tucking it into his pocket. He walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, two hands splayed in front of him and holding him up. Mickey followed quietly, tentatively raising a hand to put on Ian’s shoulder but changing his mind at the last second. He didn’t know where he and Ian stood anymore, he didn’t know if touching him was still okay.

“Ian,” Mickey said softly, wetting his lower lip nervously, “I fucked up. I fucked up so badly and if I could I wouldn’t even go there. That was so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah it was.” Ian responded, turning around and crossing his arms, “You did fuck up.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ian shook his head, raising his chin and looking up at the ceiling, “You lied to me. You told me you had to work late but you were actually planning on meeting Chris.”

“I’m so-”

“No,” Ian snapped harshly, “Were you even going to tell me? If you hadn’t thought you’d been caught.”

“That’s not what - fuck.” Mickey pressed his lips together and breathed out loudly through his nose, trying to find a way to explain himself, “I didn’t want to hurt your fucking feelings.”

“So instead you just went for a secret rendezvous with the former love of your life to talk about getting back together and then make out a bit.”

“Don’t you think you’re blowing this a little out of portion?” Mickey growled, his temper starting to boil up, “I fucked up, I told you about it, I said I was sorry. What the fuck else do you want from me?”

Ian’s eyes snapped back down to Mickey in a narrow glare, “I want for you to have not lied to me, or gone to meet Chris, or,” Ian’s voice caught and he blinked as tears started to pool at the corners, “Or kissed him. Fuck, I want for you to have told about this before, not just when you thought you were getting ratted out by someone.”

“That’s not why I fucking told you! I could’ve told you something else, but I didn’t.”

Ian snorted, “And what? You want a prize for not lying to me a second time?”

He knew Ian was right, it was stupid to pretend that he had done anything right. Just because he hadn’t dug further didn’t mean the hole wasn’t deep. He took a deep breath and decided changed tactics. The end goal was to fix this and arguing semantics wasn’t going to get them there.

“Ian, I can’t change what happened,” Mickey shrugged, “Can’t do a fucking thing about it now. So you’ve just gotta figure out how we’re going to move forward. What do I do to make this better, Ian?”

Ian sniffed and twisted his hands together, “I don’t know, I don’t know if we do move forward.”

Mickey thought he knew what a broken heart felt like, but he had no idea, he had no fucking clue how much it could hurt before he heard Ian say those words. All his fears were coming to life and he felt like all air was being torn out of his lungs.

“Ian, no.”

“You still care about Chris.” It wasn’t a question, it was like Ian had just resigned himself to the fact of it.

“No, fuck, I don’t. I don’t give a fucking shit about Chris.” Mickey stepped forward, on autopilot when he reached for Ian only to have him draw back from Mickey’s touch. “I don’t care about him, Ian, I really don’t.”

“Why did you go to meet him?”

“I-” Mickey stopped and swallowed, he had known this would be hard but he had no fucking idea exactly how hard. “Okay, I care a little, but it’s not anything.”

“It’s enough to make you lie to me,” Ian said, “Enough to risk me. Fuck, I should’ve known better. I’m so fucking stupid.”

Mickey stepped back, affronted by Ian’s words, the echo of Chris’ own words months before bursting forward.

_You’ll never change._

_I should have known better._

“The fuck does that mean? You should’ve known better?” Mickey hissed.

“Always the rebound, never the boyfriend. Just a temporary fuck, right?” Ian laughed dryly at his own stupid joke.

Mickey felt like his skin was on fire, every inch of him itching to destroy. It wasn’t what he expected, what he had braced himself for, but it wasn’t better. The idea that Mickey was just using Ian all this time, waiting for something better to come along and biding his time. Fuck,, that was enough to make Mickey want to burn the fucking building to the ground.

Mickey tried to keep his voice steady, hide the thrumming rage in his chest, “How the fuck do you think I could do that to you?”

“Because I’m here packing boxes so you can move in with me while I think you’re at work, and then I find out you’re actually at a bar with Chris and fucking kissing him.”

“This is why I didn’t fucking tell you!” Mickey shouted, finally reaching the end of his rope, “I knew this shit would happen, your fucking panicky bullshit!” Mickey huffed and sucked on his teeth, “I forgave you when you were practically ready to hop on Captain Douchebag’s dick.”

“Oh,” Ian said, his eyes flashing dangerously, “Back to that, huh? So, if a little bit of flirting is basically fucking then what did you do?”

“Nothing! I did nothing!” Mickey growled and spun around, pulling on his lower lip and trying to calm himself down. He hated how his temper always bested him, but the way Ian was looking at him, his face filled with betrayal, Mickey didn’t know another way to handle it. Honestly, Ian was just lucky that Mickey wasn’t throwing fists.

“I fucked up,” Mickey continued, hand out in front of him and fingers splayed like he were trying to calm a feral dog, but instead it was just himself. “I made a mistake, you made a mistake back then too and I forgave you.”

Ian shook his head and laughed with bitter disbelief, “You don’t get it yet, do you? Aaron is nobody to me and I’m nobody to him. We screwed around and sometimes we’d go out drinking together, that’s all. There wasn’t even a break up because there wasn’t anything to break up.” Ian breathed in deeply, like he was preparing himself for something crushing. Mickey wasn’t sure if it would crush him or Ian, or maybe both of them. “You can’t compare something like that to a three year relationship. You fucking can’t, Mickey, because it’s not the same. If I go and talk to Aaron, we might get a little flirty but that’s all. If you go talk to Chris, he tells you he wants you back and he kisses you.”

“Ian-”

“And you kiss him.”

Mickey stepped forward again, grabbing Ian’s elbow and looking up at him imploringly, “It wasn’t like that.”

Ian shook his head again, lips pressed tightly together, “Stop pretending that doesn’t mean anything. It does. You lying to me to go see him, talking about your fucking relationship, kissing him; that doesn’t mean nothing.”

“Yes, it does,” Mickey said, his throat felt dry and scratchy, “It means nothing.”

Ian’s eyes were wet and drooping, fuck, it killed Mickey to seem him like that, knowing it was because of something he’d done and said. Mickey remembered months earlier, back when he and Ian were just getting to know each other, and how he had decided he never wanted to be the cause of Ian’s pain. He didn’t want to be another in the list of disappointing ex-boyfriends but it didn’t seem like he was going to end up with much of choice.

“I need to go,” Ian murmured.

Mickey grasped Ian’s elbow tighter, trying to hold him in place, “What do you mean?”

“I need to go, Mickey,” Ian answered, he looked so exhausted and Mickey just wanted to wrap his arms around him, pull him over to the couch and fall asleep. Ian seemed to have something different in mind, tearing himself out of Mickey’s grip and collecting his things quickly.

“What are you doing?” Mickey asked, “We gotta talk about this, we gotta figure this out.”

Ian groaned and rounded on Mickey, “I fucking can’t. I can’t be here and I can’t do this. I need to go.”

Ian turned and stalked over to the door, his coat haphazardly shrugged on and keys shoved in his pocket, he started pulling on and lacing up his boots. Mickey felt small and frail, he wanted more than anything to grab Ian and pull him further into the apartment. Mickey wanted to make Ian stay so badly, show him that Mickey could be better.

He was supposed to be better with Ian.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Mickey asked, his voice quiet and cracking halfway through.

Ian shrugged, “I don’t fucking know, I don’t know what I think or how I feel. I just… I need to go.”

“I told him I wanted to be with you,” Mickey said, loud and clear, his last ditch attempt to keep Ian there - to keep him from leaving.

“Yeah, well, was that before or after you lied and kissed your ex?” Ian shot back, shaking his head one last time at Mickey’s silence. He swung open the door and walked through, slamming it and letting the noise echo through Mickey’s apartment.

A deafening silence followed for a long space of time, nearly driving Mickey mad but he felt trapped in his mind, unable to control his own body anymore. There was a loud satisfying crash of a ceramic mug shattering against the wall and Mickey realized he had been the one to throw it. He’d taken it from the counter where Ian had set a group of mugs to pack away. Mickey cursed loudly, finally starting to come back to himself and grabbed a second mug from the counter, throwing it as well.

Slam, crash, shatter. The audible version of his heart falling to fucking pieces.

Ian said he should have known better, maybe it was really Mickey that should have. Should have known that someone like Ian, something like what they had, wasn’t something he was destined for. He fooled himself for a while but when it came right down to it, Chris was still right. Mickey still wasn’t really a boyfriend. He was hostile and rude, aggressively pushing away things he disliked without considering any implications. He didn’t talk about his feelings, couldn’t express how important one person was to him - how much of a beautiful difference they made in his life.

Who was he kidding? He wasn’t even good enough for Chris, how could he possibly be good enough for Ian.

Maybe Ian didn’t say the words but Mickey knew what this was, knew what this meant.

Ian broke up with him, not officially yet, but he would.

Mickey grabbed another mug, throwing it as hard as he could a letting out a loud anguished cry that turned into a soft whimper. It wasn’t just his heart anymore, every piece of him felt like it was falling apart, aching from the sudden gaping loss that he had hoped he would never have to endure.

_Slam. Crash. Shatter._


	17. seventeen.

Mickey groaned and pressed the heel of his left hand to his forehead. His head was pounding so loudly he thought it might explode. Usually after a night of heavy drinking there was a dull ache that faded with coffee, he could tell that it would be different this time - the consequences of drinking his own body weight in alcohol. His nostrils were burning too, a sure sign that he had gone out to find some coke or meth (once he got to a certain level of fucked up it stopped being much of a concern which). Mickey sniffed and cringed from the pain it induced, even the noise of natural fucking body functions hurt his head.

Fuck, he hadn’t gone that hard since Terry died and that was only because of the confusion of the whole day. It had been simultaneously one of the best and worst days of Mickey’s life because of the bastard and Mickey had gotten so fucked up he barely remembered it anymore.

Maybe that was what he had been going for.

Unfortunately, everything before his tenth drink still remained fresh in his mind. If the hangover wasn’t enough to make Mickey never want to get up from the spot he was curled up on the couch then the memory of Ian walking out his door was.

Jesus Christ, he hadn’t even made it to his bed.

Mickey reluctantly opened his eyes, deciding that if he was going to be a miserable piece of shit for the rest of the day he should probably at least let his job know he wouldn’t be coming in and then probably grab some more beer. He took note of his surroundings; the place was in shambles. There were shattered mugs by the doorway, dents in the wall and door, boxes thrown and knocked over with Mickey’s previously packed away things strewn across the floor. Beer cans littered the ground by the couch, there was a nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table and a small pile of white powder next to a rolled dollar bill.

Mickey huffed and sucked his lips in between his teeth, a bitter aftertaste left in his mouth. He picked up his phone (taking note of the lack of texts or phone calls) and dialed.

“Hey man, you’re kind of late.”

Fucking John was an apprentice at the shop and a fucking idiot, Mickey really would have prefered anyone one else picking up.

“I’m taking the week off,” Mickey said, his throat sore and voice gravely. He didn’t bother waiting for John to respond, just hung up and prepared himself for a similar phone call to the club.

* * *

The next day went by quickly with the dangerous mix of drugs and alcohol in his system, a haze of sitting on the couch and listening to his music so loud that it became a garbled mess. He hardly even bothered to move, only getting up when he ran out of beer or needed to piss. At one point he tried to go to his room, only making it as far as the doorway before turning around.

The whole fucking apartment was drowning him in memories of Ian but the bedroom was the worst.

He had stood frozen, clutching the frame and staring in, imaging a time not too long ago that he woke up in Ian’s arms. He closed his eyes, remembering the way that Ian would hum softly and squeeze his arm lightly around Mickey’s stomach before opening his eyes. He thought of how Mickey could just lay there next to him every morning, tracing all his freckles with his eyes, sometimes brushing his fingers over and between them like a connect-the-dots and Ian would smile and kiss his palm or his fingers, whatever was closest to his mouth. The quiet, sweet moments in the morning where neither of them would say a word, just keep to light touches and gentle kisses.

Fuck, and those were some of the moments that Mickey loved most.

So, Mickey had slunk back to the couch, curling up in the same spot and chugging back a warm beer that had been sitting on the ground. He looked down at his phone for what was probably the millionth time, he was sure half the battery life had been killed just from checking the home screen for a text message.

He was waiting for the final nail in the coffin.

Ian hadn’t said a word to him since the fight, no texts and no calls. It had only been a day but Mickey was anxious, the longer Ian put it off the worse it was, he just needed to know for sure that it was over. If Ian never said anything, Mickey wasn’t sure he would ever really believe they’d broken up.

Ten years could go by and Mickey would probably still be sitting on his ass waiting for Ian Gallagher to call.

* * *

He broke from his spot on the couch two days later, drunk and high out of his mind, bursting into a flurry of rage. He started throwing boxes, taking pleasure from noises of crashes and breaks. The boxes would fall apart, dvds and books cascading to the ground, random decorations shattering on impact with the walls, and glasses and plates breaking to pieces. The brief satisfaction and pleasure dissipated as he stared at the mess, it was going to cost a small fortune to replace everything he was destroying, but he prefered it that way.

He’d rather watch everything Ian touched go up in flames than continue to look at it all.

Even the fucking chairs he would sit in, a fork he had used - it ached to see any of it, to remember any of it.

Not even a full fucking week and he was falling to pieces.

Mickey picked up his phone, checking in vain for any messages. He let out a soft and dry sob, he didn’t know what he expected to see - what he ever expected to see. He clutched the phone tightly in his hand, letting out an anguished cry as he threw it at the wall. He watched the screen crack and the phone fall to pieces. Ian wasn’t going to call anyways, it was a waste of his time staring at the fucking phone.

He dropped back onto the couch, picking up the discarded card on the edge of the table and making himself a sloppy line before sniffing it. He rested back against the couch, grabbing another beer of his six pack and breathing heavily.

He should probably start trying to move on - he started moving on from Chris a fucking day later - but Ian wasn’t Chris. Ian was fucking everything.

How the fuck was he supposed to move on from that?

* * *

He’d never felt more like a pathetic, clingy ex than he did looking at Ian’s Facebook. This was the sort of shit that Mickey mocked Mandy for; scrolling through his newsfeed, looking at pictures, checking the relationship status, looking out for a vague status update.

It was so fucking pathetic, but Mickey couldn’t help himself.

He pulled out his laptop, it was old and had been long since discarded after he scrounged together the money for a decent phone, but with his phone in pieces all he had left to use was the piece of trash laptop. It took what felt like a century to power up, every second filled with Mickey questioning himself and trying to convince himself that it was a fucking terrible idea. Of course, that didn’t work, he just needed to fucking see Ian - even if it was only on the screen of his shitty fucking laptop.

He guzzled a can of beer as he waited, unsure of how many he had for the day or even how many days had passed by now. A small portion of his mind he hoped that the week hadn’t gone by yet, concern for his jobs circling around, but mostly he just didn’t fucking care.

The screen loaded and he pulled up the site, logging in and going to Ian’s profile as quickly as possible. He stopped and let out a shaky breath when he saw Ian’s Profile Picture; it was the one Ian had taken of them after he’d convinced Mickey to go on a run with him for the first and last time. Ian had an arm draped across Mickey’s shoulder, pulling him in closely by his neck and pressing a kiss to Mickey’s cheek. Ian’s eyes were closed and a smile playing at the corners of his lips, looking so sweet and pretty that it hurt. It hurt even more to look at his own face though, to see the way he was smiling, wide and uninhibited, the way he was looking at Ian like he was the greatest thing on the planet. It looked as though he’d never felt better in his life.

He probably hadn’t.

Mickey reluctantly scrolled down, scanning for Ian’s information. He felt a twinge in his chest when he saw that Ian had kept his information to a minimum, not even showing what gender he was interested in, never mind an actual relationship status. He didn’t know why he was so disappointed, it wasn’t like Ian had ever actually changed it in the first place, but there had just been the smallest bit of hope. He started scrolling through Ian’s newsfeed, there wasn’t anything new, nothing since their fight and Ian had left.

It was mostly generic shit, shared posts of funny videos or articles that he’d liked. He wasn’t exactly a social media star so it didn’t surprise Mickey that there were no status updates, but he still kind of wished there were. He paused when he came across a photo, linked to Ian’s instagram, and bit down on his lower lip. It was a picture of the knitting book that Ian had come across with the caption ‘bf has a hidden talent #thingsyouneverknewaboutmickey’. Mickey swallowed, eyes stinging as they filled with water. He sniffed and rubbed at his nose, trying his damndest not to let a single fucking tear fall.

He wasn’t about to fucking cry - he didn’t fucking cry.

Mickey clicked on the photo, letting it take him to Ian’s instagram page and nearly broke.

Just from a look at the gallery of small boxes he could already see how many of the photos centered around Mickey. Curiosity got the best of him and Mickey clicked to scroll through each of the photos. There was one of the view of the street from Mickey’s apartment after a light snowfall, another of their feet tangled together under a blanket and propped on the coffee table, one of Mickey curled up in bed sleeping, and one of Ian wearing one of Mickey’s grubby old hoodies with the caption ‘feels so cozy, smells so good’. It didn’t stop there, God, it was like the whole fucking thing was a shrine to their relationship.

Mickey flipping Ian off while he ate at the diner, a breakfast Ian had made for Mickey, Mickey standing on the boardwalk smoking, Ian with his family and Mickey crowded on the couch and making silly faces, Ian smiling with the sun behind him the day after their first date with the caption ‘best night of my life’, Ian and Mickey’s shoe clad feet pointed towards each other as they stood on the Ledge at the Sear’s Tower with the clear floor below them, Mandy hugging Mickey’s neck and grinning from behind his shoulder, Mickey holding a cup of coffee and pointing at the wrong name on his cup (Mackie) with a frown, Ian on his birthday standing next to Lip and Mickey with an arm over Mickey’s shoulders, a blurry photo of Ian and Mickey outside of the club Ian liked with the caption ‘guess who drank for freee?? not mickey’, Ian wearing Mickey’s sweatpants and pouting as they still hung an inch off the ground, and finally a photo of Ian outside in the dark with Mickey tucked under his arm and clinging to him with the caption ‘help we’re lost’ from the first night they met.

Fuck.

Any small bit of hope Mickey had at keeping it together collapsed, memories of their relationship flooding him as he looked at the photos. He loved every single one of those moments, treasured them like he treasured nothing else.

He had never felt as happy as he had with Ian, even when they were fighting it was still better than anything else. There was just something about Ian that made the world brighter and without him everything felt cold.

He would have prefered spending the rest of his life fighting with Ian to spending any of it without him.

And yet, here he was.

Tears spilled from Mickey’s eyes, hot streaks streaming steadily down his cheeks. He didn’t even bother to try to stop or brush them away, just continued to stare at the gallery of pictures through blurred vision and think of all that he had just lost.

* * *

Monday morning came around too quickly. Mickey reluctantly hauled himself off his couch and into the shower, the hot spray of water washed away the layer of filth from his week of stewing on the couch, beating against his sore muscles and loosening some of the pressure. He let his mind go blank as he stood under the spray, just taking a minute to enjoy the feeling before he stepped out and back into reality.

He noticed it was more brisk than it was cold as he stepped outside his apartment. He remembered snow on the ground the week before and now there was barely any, only small chunks melting in the gutters. Mickey pulled out a cigarette, sticking it between his lips and starting to walk. He’d barely gone a block before he started to get hot, his jacket clearly too heavy. It felt like he had gone into hibernation, slept through the winter and walked out into the spring.

If only his mood matched the changing seasons.

He sat down on the bench outside of the shelter, smoking and watching the tracks as he waited for the El. He was a bit early, still had a ten minute wait before it showed up. He tapped his foot impatiently, starting on a second cigarette the moment he finished the first. Mickey didn’t want to sit still, nothing to focus on or think about, because somehow that always led him back to thinking about Ian. Maybe work would be a welcome change to his recent miserable routine.

“Mickey?”

Mickey glanced up, his eyes feeling droopy and heavy as he tried to find where the indistinguishable voice had come from.

A man Mickey didn’t recognize walked up to him, waving with a big smile, “Hey man, what’s up?”

The man dropped onto the bench next to him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket (a noticeably lighter jacket than what Mickey was wearing).

Mickey frowned, he had no idea who the fucking guy was. The man was a little familiar though, Mickey wondered if maybe he was one of Mickey’s co-workers, it’s not like Mickey paid much attention to the them in the first place so it was possible.

“Heading to work,” Mickey grunted, wetting his lower lip and taking a drag.

The man nodded, still smiling like a fucking idiot, “Oh yeah, I just got off a few hours ago.”

Mickey eyed the man carefully, he wondered if maybe the guy worked at the club he bounced for but he looked too small to be any of the other bouncers and Mickey made sure to stay strictly outside checking ID’s so he rarely ever interacted with the bartenders.

“So, how are things? I saw the picture of you two that Ian posted a few weeks back.”

Oh, that was where.

Mickey remembered vaguely meeting the man a few months before, back at Ian’s birthday party, he was an old bartender friend of Ian’s and his name was Tom? Todd? Tim? Fucking perfect. Mickey pulled his lips in between his teeth and nodded, looking at his shoes.

“Good,” He managed to croak out, unable to admit outloud what had happened.

“You know,” Tim (yeah, Mickey was pretty sure his name was Tim) started, a small smile on his lips as he stared forward, “I’ve known Ian for about a year and, man, you two just seem so made for each other. You’re my freaking inspiration.”

Mickey swallowed and chewed on the inside of his cheek, dread and shame filling his chest and clutching at his heart.

“It’s something you never expect, you know? When I was a kid I never thought that I would have a chance at a real relationship, never mind something that could last forever, but now I see you guys together and it’s like - I believe in my chances.”

Tim let out a friendly laugh and grinned as the train started to approach, “Sorry, Ian told me you’re not much of a talker but I am.” He nudged Mickey’s arm with his elbow and stood up, “Anyways, this is me, good talking to you.”

Mickey nodded and waved curtly as Tim walked away and onto the train. It was Mickey’s train too, but he didn’t move an inch. If he waited for the next one he would be late for work and after the impromptu vacation he was pretty sure he was already going to be in shit once he got there. Mickey pressed his lips together tightly, feeling a sudden sharp burn in his nose as he tried to hold back tears. Fuck, he was so fucking weak these days. He stayed seated, watching the train starting to slowly roll and then speed away on the tracks.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t sit on that train with Tim, hear about how his relationship with Ian was inspiration when he was the one who destroyed it. He fucking destroyed the best thing in his life.

Fuck.

Mickey sniffed, trying to discreetly rub away the burgeoning tears in his eyes with the heels of his palms. He needed to calm down, stop thinking about Ian, and just get through the fucking day.

* * *

Work wasn’t any better.

His boss yelled at him, his co-workers were fucking idiots, the welding was loud and the job was monotonous.

Through it all, every fucking second, all he could think of was Ian.

* * *

Mickey stepped outside his worker, feeling greasy as fuck, sore, and even worse than he had that morning. The next day would no doubt be more of the same and Mickey was dreading it. If he was younger and less responsible (and isn’t that a fucking joke) he probably would have just fucked off from his job, not bothering with any of it until he could rightfully cleanse his mind of Ian Gallagher.

Mickey took two steps before he felt a small fist collide with his back.

Mickey blinked and scowled, “What the fuck?!” He snapped, spinning around and coming face to face with his sister in all her aggressive and furious glory.

“I should ask you the same fucking question, asshole,” Mandy spoke through gritted teeth, hands tightly clenched in fists by her sides. “Ian’s a fucking mess, won’t even talk to me about what’s going on, and then I text you see what’s up and you don’t fucking answer! What the fuck, Mickey?!”

Mickey huffed and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, starting to walk he said, “Smashed it.”

“Oh yeah, fucking ‘smashed it’, right, fuck off.” Mandy mocked him angrily, deepening her tone when she repeated his words. She walked quickly, keeping pace with Mickey and shooting him a scowl so vicious it could only come from a Milkovich.

“Threw it at the wall, doesn’t work anymore,” Mickey explained tightly, aware that this conversation could only lead to a topic he was adamant to avoid. If Ian didn’t tell her over the past week he worked with Mandy then why the fuck should Mickey have to?

“Does Ian know that?”

Mickey fucking hated Mandy sometimes. “No,” Mickey answered, unable to stop himself from tacking on, “Ian doesn’t give a shit.”

“You two broke up, didn’t you?” Mandy pressed, shaking her head and looking at the ground as she stepped, “That’s why you’re both in such pissy moods?” Mickey shrugged and kept walking, earning an eyeroll from Mandy. “He looks like shit, Mick.”

Mickey glanced at his sister, remembering a similar conversation from just a few months before and wondering if that was something he could handle.

“I really think he misses you, maybe you can still work things out?”

Mickey didn’t say a word, he already knew the answer, there was no salvaging what he had broken.

“Have you guys talked at all? Did you just get in a fight or something? He loves you a lot, Mick, you know that, right? Whatever happened, you guys can work it out.”

“I kissed Chris,” Mickey cut her off loudly, coming to a sudden stop and spinning to stare at her. “I lied to him about going to meet Chris, kissed him, and then I told Ian about it after but it wasn’t enough. We were supposed to move in together and then I fucking did that. He dumped me, Mandy, and he’s not coming back.”

“Mickey,” Mandy’s voice was softer this time, her eyes wide and filled with sympathy that Mickey didn’t want.

“You told me not to fuck up, and I tried, I really fucking tried,” Mickey explained, his own voice softening and cracking, “But I fucked up anyways. And, who was I fucking kidding, really? I’m just this fucking asshole, took me fucking years to accept that I’m even gay and now I’m supposed to be a boyfriend? A good, fucking gold star, bring home to meet mom and dad, boyfriend.” Mickey sniffed and shook his head, looking down at his scuffed and damaged boots, “Nah, that’s just not me. Ian deserves better, fuck, even Chris deserves better.”

Mandy stayed quiet for a long moment, probably shocked by Mickey’s sudden outburst. They were close, or close enough at least, but it wasn’t often that Mickey really talked to Mandy, especially about his feelings. He figured it was a matter of time though, the more Mandy pressed the more Mickey felt like snapping.

Or breaking, falling to fucking pieces.

Mandy stepped closer, hesitantly wrapping her arms around Mickey’s chest and pulling him close, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Mickey took a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around his sister and letting himself have the moment of comfort.

“Mickey,” Mandy whispered softly, “I know you don’t see it, but I do, and you’re a really good boyfriend. Ian’s amazing and he’s one of my best friends but you’re pretty amazing too.”

“Mands-”

“No, Mick, just wait one second,” Mandy cut him off and let out a long breath, “ I know you don’t think you were a good boyfriend, but look at the fucking evidence. You and Ian, you guys were great together. Flaws and all, you pulled the best out of each other - both of you. All the shitty things with Chris, that wasn’t even a thing with Ian. You aren’t a bad boyfriend, it’s not you, Mick, it’s just finding a guy you actually want to be with. You’re not this emotionally fucked mess who doesn’t get to have good things - you deserve those things and you deserve to be happy. Ian’s not better than you, Chris definitely isn’t fucking better than you, and their happiness isn’t more important than yours. Okay? You’re good enough for anyone in the fucking world and don’t let anyone tell you differently.” She paused and pulled back to look Mickey in the eye, “If being happy means you want to be alone or with someone new, great. But if means you want to be with Ian, go be with Ian. Talk to him, just don’t be too scared to go for it because you think he deserves better than you. He doesn’t, he deserves exactly you.”

Mickey nodded, letting the words sink in and settle in his mind. He wasn’t sure what to think or how to take what she was saying but Mandy was one of the only people in the world that Mickey felt could really understand. She was beaten down just as much as Mickey, in different ways but still the same. Ian would tell him he was good and strong, and Chris before him, but it still never felt real until Mandy was saying it. It wasn’t perfect, it didn’t solve anything and Mickey still felt weird thinking that maybe he wasn’t so bad, but for the first time in a week his chest felt a bit lighter.

“That from one of your books? ‘I am woman, hear me roar’?”

Mandy snorted and pulled away, grinning up at Mickey, “Yeah, pretty good, huh?”

Mickey nodded, his lips quirking up at the corners, “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“Wanna grab pizza and play some games at your place?”

Mickey grimaced, thinking of the mess blanketing his entire apartment, “Let’s go to yours.”

“Even with my bitchy roommate,” Mandy gasped teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up.”


	18. eighteen.

**Three years earlier.**

“So, that’s what you decided to wear?”

Mickey had only met Mandy’s new roommate Tessa once before and it hadn’t been any more of pleasant experience then. Each had developed a deep distaste for the other within seconds. Mandy had insisted that Mickey was nice to her when he came over, apparently they had become very close friends in the past week (though Mickey didn’t understand how Mandy could stand the tall, blonde bimbo) and Mandy wanted to make sure they stayed that way.

Clearly, Tessa hadn’t be subjected to the same discussion.

“Not staying long,” Mickey snarled in return.

Tessa pursed her lips tightly together, standing in the doorway and blocking Mickey’s entrance into the apartment. “And you couldn’t have even changed your shirt?”

Mickey scowled and clenched his teeth together tightly. He really was not in the mood to be interrogated by life-sized Barbie. He’d already worked fifteen hours that day, having to take on a second job as a bouncer now that Mandy had found her place, and then got a whiny drunken call from his sister about running out of buds and needing him to come over.

“It’s just a black fucking shirt.”

“It says security on it.”

“You’re all too fucking fucked to read anyways, now you wanna move the fuck out of my way, bitch?” Mickey snapped, eyebrows cocked high as he matched Tessa’s steely gaze with his own.

She rolled her eyes and stepped away from the door, leaving it wide open for Mickey as she called out, “Mandy, your brother is here!”

Mickey flipped Tessa off while her back was turned, making his way into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. The apartment wasn’t quite stuffed full, but there were more people than comfortable and the air felt thick and damp. Mickey shuffled past groups of people chatting away, ignoring all the slurred words and drunken laughter. Music was playing from somewhere, but nowhere near to the level of noise Mickey thought it would be. The whole affair seemed relatively tame, especially compared to what Mickey and Mandy had grown up with (where if someone wasn’t in the ER halfway through the event, then it was considered all around boring as fuck).

Mickey walked around the room, trying to spot Mandy with no success. He huffed out a deep breath, and tried to calm himself, leave it to Mandy to make his night that much fucking worse. All he wanted to do was go home and pass the fuck out, but here he was because Mandy had begged. Sometimes he really fucking hated Mandy.

Making his way to the kitchen, Mickey settled on the idea that he would have to wait until Mandy miraculously emerged from wherever the fuck she was hiding. He swung open the fridge and swiped the first beer he found, twisting off the cap and taking a long swig.

And then he nearly spat it back out.

Mickey squished his face and forced himself to swallow, holding out the bottle to read the label of the foul beverage.

“Not much of beer drinker?” A man asked as he approached and settled into the space beside Mickey.

Mickey snorted and cocked an eyebrow as he read ‘Chainbreaker’ on the label. “Drink plenty of beer,” Mickey answered, still eying the bottle suspiciously, “Just usually comes in a fucking can and doesn’t cost more than a dollar.”

The man laughed and Mickey looked up to match a face to the voice. He was a little startled to see someone looking so normal at Mandy’s weird hipster-esque party. His hair was short and brown, a little bit of scruff dusting his jaw, a couple inches taller than Mickey, and dressed down in just a hoodie and jeans. He was surprised that Tessa hadn’t thrown the guy out on sight.

The guy smiled and sipped from his own bottle of beer, showing off the same ‘Chainbreaker’ label as on Mickey’s.

“Shit, man,” Mickey scratched the back of his neck, “Didn’t mean to swipe your beer.”

The guy shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. My friend is just trying to broaden my beer-related horizons, the more you drink just means the less I have to.”

Mickey’s lips quirked up at the corners, finding himself enjoying the company of the other man despite his previous aggravation.

“Chris,” The man said, lifting the bottle once again to his lips and take a slow sip.

Mickey found his eyes drawn the the man’s plump lips as the bottle rested against them, then back to Chris’ deep brown eyes, finding them soothing. Chris was grinning when he brought the bottle down and Mickey felt his face heat up when he realized how obvious his ogling had been. He must have been more exhausted than he thought. While Mickey had been, more or less, officially out for a few months he still tended to keep it to himself.

All the people that needed to know knew and everyone else could stay the fuck out of his business.

“Mickey,” Mickey replied after the short silence, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth as he tried to quell the awkward and uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

Chris seemed to catch onto Mickey’s discomfort quickly and said, “So, do you know the people throwing this thing?”

Mickey swallowed and nodded, “Yeah, it’s my sister’s place.”

“Oh, yeah? No way.” Chris laughed, he turned around and hoisted himself up to sit on the counter next to Mickey. “The blonde one?”

Mickey nearly choked on his beer. He shook his head vigorously, “Fuck no.”

Chris laughed again, it was a nice sound, like a low deep rumble that left Mickey feeling warm and content. “I didn’t even know someone else lived here. My friend who bought me the beer, she’s semi-dating the guy who lives next door and we just got invited over an hour ago.” Chris snickered softly and nodded his head to where Tessa was standing and staring at them. “My friend thinks it’s because she saw me and wants to hook up.”

Mickey snorted, crossing his arms and shaking his head, “She’s not the fucking worst looking.”

Chris shrugged, looking down at Mickey with a half smile, “Yeah, well, any ‘she’ isn’t really my thing.”

Mickey ran his tongue over his lower lip, slowly letting his eyes travel along Chris’ body, feeling more at ease with Chris’ confession having been made. “Is that so?” Mickey drawled.

“That is so,” Chris answered with a small smile so enticing that Mickey found himself ignoring that he should still be looking for Mandy and going home.

Instead, he stayed with Chris.

Talking to Chris was so easy, which surprised Mickey because usually he just scowled and said something insulting without even intending to. Chris was different though, he was familiar and had a calming presences that Mickey couldn’t get enough of. He leaned on the counter next to Chris, both of them choking down disgusting beer after disgusting beer, laughing and talking. By the time the party was starting to dwindle down and the sky was starting to lightening, Mickey had forgotten why he came to the party in the first place.

“You know,” Chris said, his words weren’t quite slurred but they were close, “I just - you’re so pretty, you know?”

Mickey stopped mid-sip and looked up at Chris, wide-eyed, “I’m fucking what?!”

Chris blushed, a bright red splashing his cheeks and adding to the alcohol induced flush that had already been there. “I’d say that came out wrong, but it didn’t. You’re just so pretty, I can’t help saying it.”

In any other situation, Mickey would have punched the guy in the face, as it was, Mickey was growing fairly fond of Chris’ face.

“My friends left a while ago,” Chris continued, letting out a happy sigh, “I just wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.”

“Because I’m fucking pretty,” Mickey snarked, narrowing his eyes. He wouldn’t punch Chris, but he still wasn’t too thrilled with the word.

Chris just shrugged, the same enticing smile from earlier playing at his lips, “Something like that.”

Mickey was struck by the way Chris watched him, the warm feeling spreading out from his chest and through his body. The deep chocolate-y brown of his eyes drawing Mickey in.

Mickey coughed, trying to clear his mind of whatever fucking nonsense was filling it. “You gotta leave then?”

Chris nodded, “Probably.” He hopped down from the counter, taking a final swig from his beer to finish it off. “I was thinking though,” Chris said, turning his body to face Mickey, the distance between them so miniscule that Mickey could feel Chris’ body heat radiating. “I really want to see you again.”

Mickey’s tongue darted out to lick at the corner of his mouth, a salacious tone to his voice as he said, “If you wanna fuck we can just go somewhere now.”

Chris’ eyes darted down to Mickey’s lips, letting out a short breath, “That would be… amazing, but not what I mean.” He took a step back and shoved his hands in his jeans front pockets. “I want to see you again, like take you on a date and talk with you,” He grinned, “and then maybe after we can go somewhere and, uh, fuck.”

Mickey snorted at the awkward way the swear word tumbled from Chris’ mouth, like a kid in junior high that had just discovered there were ‘bad words’.

“Don’t swear often, huh?”

Chris blushed and shook his head, looking at the ground, “Uh, no, not really.” He took a deep breath and looked up at Mickey shyly once again, “So? Date?”

Mickey watched as Chris waited for answer, and Mickey felt a little bad that it wouldn’t be the one he wanted. Sure, Mickey enjoyed Chris’ company and the night had been a lot of fun, but a date? Mickey couldn’t do that.

It didn’t matter how strangely charmed he was by Chris.

Mickey cleared his throat, meeting Chris’ hopeful eyes, “What makes you think that’s a good idea?”

Chris shrugged, “I’ve just got this feeling about you, I think you’re important.” Chris laughed as Mickey raised dubious eyebrows. “Alright, that sounds dumb, but I’m a little drunk so give me the benefit of the doubt. What I mean is that sometimes there are people who come into your life and it’s like everything just aligns, you know? I’ve never met someone I’ve clicked with so instantly.” Chris shuffled forward, lightly smiling down at Mickey, “My mom always says this thing about certain people coming into your life, and one way or another, they’re going to important and change things for you. Call it intuition, but I kind of feel like that could be you.”

“I’m the game changer, huh?” Mickey teased, weirdly feeling relatively loose for what Chris had admitted.

“Could be,” Chris admitted quietly, “All you have to do is go on a date with me so that we can know for sure.”

Mickey knew he wouldn’t be, knew that after a date with him Chris would change his mind in a second. He knew who he was and what he was, and it wasn’t what a guy like Chris was looking for. He opened his mouth to tell Chris he didn’t date but surprised himself when he said, “Okay.”

He was even more surprised (or maybe equally surprised) when Chris swooped down to capture Mickey’s lips with his own in a kiss that, while being sloppy as fuck, made his heart stutter for a second.

Well, that was new.

-

**Present Day.**

He stayed at Mandy’s for the full night, just playing video games and smoking weed. It felt like the days that Mickey treasured most from Canaryville. Terry locked up in prison, his brothers out on runs or at their girlfriends place, while him and Mandy sat at home. It was probably one of the only memories he really cared for from back then, actually. It was always so therapeutic to sit next to Mandy, scream some shit at the TV screen, and then laugh until they fell asleep. It was exactly the kind of day Mickey needed.

Maybe not the cure to a broken heart, but it certainly helped - just a bit.

Mickey went to work the next day without bothering to go home first. He spent the day not unlike he had spent the day before, keeping to himself and trying not to think. Once again, he failed miserably, except this time his thoughts were on something else.

Mandy’s words were stuck in Mickey’s head, seeming to repeat just as they started to fade, like a persistent echo of positivity.

Mickey had never considered himself someone very deserving of a good life. He had made a lot of mistakes already and he didn’t think he had done much to make up for that. If karma was actually a thing, Mickey was completely fucked. He’d never even tried to redeem himself. But he did change, and maybe that counted more than pathetic attempts at quick redemption.

Mickey had changed a lot, vastly and extremely since his days growing up in Canaryville, and maybe he didn’t give himself enough credit for that. Maybe he was too busy paying attention to who he used to be to actually notice who he had become.

And it was possible that who he had become wasn’t actually all that bad.

He walked home feeling the slightest bit lighter, he still wasn’t positive he agreed with everything Mandy said but he did feel as though he’d had the smallest epiphany that maybe - as Mandy had put it - he wasn’t an emotionally fucked mess. Not anymore, at least. It was a small step, but it still felt substantial to Mickey to be able to look at himself in the mirror and feel like he actually deserved the life he’d built for himself.

Mickey spent the evening cleaning his apartment, with his mind feeling a bit clearer it seemed like it was time. He started in the kitchen, just sweeping up the broken dishes on the floor before he continued onto the scattered boxes. He wondered at one point if he should even bother trying to put things away. He had already given notice to his landlord that he would be moving out, he probably needed to move anyways. Mickey huffed out a breath and continued tossing things back into boxes, it was just easier that way.

The biggest problem with cleaning his apartment was that he was now keenly aware of what was his and what was Ian’s, and as it turned out, a lot of the stuff in his apartment was Ian’s. There wasn’t anything too important, probably nothing he was missing, but there were a couple shirts and some boxers, the hair gel he liked to use, a toothbrush and deodorant, a book and some dvd’s, one of the xbox controllers, and a blanket for the couch (because apparently Mickey’s was a piece of shit).

Just simple things that showed exactly how deeply ingrained Ian was in his life.

Fuck, Mickey missed him so much.

That was probably what mattered most, Mickey realized. He didn’t know how long it would take to get over Ian, he didn’t know if he really ever would, but he knew that someday he could still be happy alone. But he didn’t want to be alone, he didn’t want to miss Ian, he didn’t want to spend his life without Ian in it.

He didn’t want Chris and he didn’t want to be alone - he wanted Ian.

He deserved good things too.

Mickey started packing Ian’s things into a large box, contemplating exactly how he would break the silence with Ian. His first thought was to call Ian, but his phone shattered to pieces and he had never bothered to get a replacement. His second thought was to burst into the bar and force Ian to have to deal with him, but it seemed sort of cruel to put him in situation he had no chance to escape.

Mickey wanted Ian back, he wanted to make Ian listen to him, but he also couldn’t justify forcing the discussion on Ian. If Ian didn’t want him back, didn’t want to talk to him, that would be something he would have to accept.

He hoped with everything he had that that wouldn’t be the outcome.

-

Staring at Ian’s door, Mickey was struck by how daunting the task of returning Ian’s things really was. He wondered if leaving the box on Ian’s doorstep would be good enough, he knew that Mandy wanted them to talk and solve their problems but all Mickey saw was another shouting match. Ian hadn’t tried to contact Mickey at all over the past week, he definitely didn’t want to see Mickey, and despite how badly Mickey wanted to see Ian, that was something he needed to respect.

Mickey owed him at least that.

But fuck, Mickey had always been selfish. So selfish that he would go all the way to his ex-boyfriend's house with a box of his things, just to have an excuse to talk to him.

He knocked on the door and took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever was on the other side of the door. He wondered if Ian was even home and if he was home, was he alone? What if Ian had already moved on and had a date over? That would fucking kill Mickey. His palms felt sweaty and his throat was tight as he waited, hearing footsteps on the other side of the doorway coming closer. He was so fucking stupid, he should have just left the box on the doorstep and fled from Ian’s life.

The door swung open and Ian stood on the other side, holding onto the door knob. Mickey froze, taking in Ian’s haggard and exhausted appearance. The bags under his eyes looked dark enough to be bruises, his hair was messy and long, longer than Mickey had ever seen it, and his skin looked sallow and pale. Mickey felt his concern spiking as he barely resisted the urge to draw Ian in closely and hold him until he was better.

He didn’t even look angry, just empty and defeated.

“Is that my stuff?” Ian asked, his voice quiet and gravely.

Mickey nodded, unable to get words out quite yet.

Ian pressed his lips into a thin line and reached out to grab the box Mickey’s grip, “Great, that all?”

Mickey shook his head, trying desperately to remember the spiel he had come up with the night before, but finding his mind had gone completely blank now that Ian was in front of him.

“I don’t have a box for you,” Ian said, swallowing hard, “ I didn’t - fuck, I’ll just give it to Mandy sometime and have her pass it along.” He moved to shut the door, stepping back inside his apartment.

Mickey’s hand shot out quickly to stop Ian, holding the door open and staring up at him, “I want talk, Ian.” He gazed up at Ian’s face, searching for any signal that it was okay to come inside or keep talking - anything that meant he didn’t have to leave just yet.

Ian dropped his grip on the doorknob and stepped away, leaving the door open and walking over to his couch. Mickey followed him inside, closing the door behind him and making his way to the couch. He awkwardly perched himself on the edge, as far away from Ian as he could. Ian stared at him expectantly and Mickey found himself frozen.

What was he supposed to say?

That Mickey knew that the lying was wrong, that kissing Chris was wrong, that Ian deserved better than him? That Mickey would let him go, if that was what Ian wanted, but that Mickey had spent every second since Ian left wishing that he would just come back. That if there was any way that Ian might still want Mickey, Mickey would never let him go.

It all felt so fucking repetitive.

“I fucked up,” Mickey said, “Fuck, Ian, I fucked up so bad.”

“It’s fine, it’s not a big deal,” Ian cut him off, shrugging.

Mickey scowled, “The fuck it isn’t a big deal?”

Ian closed his eyes and shook his head, “Please don’t yell, Mick, just please.”

“I’m not trying to fucking yell,” Mickey said tightly, “but I fucked up and you’re just sitting there saying it’s nothing. It’s not nothing, isn’t that what you were trying to fucking tell me?”

“I was mad,” Ian muttered, breathing in deeply, “But that’s only because I -” He stopped himself halfway through the sentence, shaking his head once again as he looked down at his lap.

“Because you, what?” Mickey pushed sharply.

“I’ll give Mandy the box of your stuff later,” Ian said instead, he looked up at Mickey, the starting of tears glistening in his eyes before he blinked them away. Ian stood up slowly, walking away from the couch and Mickey.

Mickey shot up from his spot and darted in front of Ian. “You got something to say, fucking say it,” Mickey said, poking Ian in chest with his index finger.

“Move out of my way, Mickey.”

“No,” Mickey answered defiantly, crossing his arms and holding his position, “The fuck were you gonna say to me?”

Ian breathed out through his nose, glowering at Mickey but making no attempt to get past him. They stayed frozen, inches apart and holding the other's steeled glare. Ian seemed determined not to budge but Mickey didn’t care, if this was his only shot, Mickey would stand there forever. At least a minute went by before Ian cracked, muttering curse words and dropping his head to stare at the ground. When he looked back his eyes and nose were tinged red from suppressed tears, it broke Mickey’s fucking heart.

“I can’t do this, Mick,” Ian said quietly, “I can’t, not again.”

“Ian-”

“I can’t get my hopes up that we’re something special, that I’m something special, when I know that you’ve got someone better waiting for you,” Ian breathed in shakily, “I can’t have you again just to lose you, Mick, I can’t do it.”

Mickey’s face dropped, he felt like his heart was shattering to pieces all over again, hating himself for ever making Ian look so sad. “Fuck, Ian, that’s not gonna happen.”

“He wants you back, and I know what you guys had, I saw it - shit, I’ve been the rebound or the mistress enough times to know when I’m not going to come in first.” Ian mumbled, sniffing and rubbing his nose, “I’m not mad - fuck, I am mad actually but I get it. What you guys have is special,” Ian nodded to himself, as if trying to convince himself that he was right. He had a weak attempt at a smile when he looked down at Mickey, “I want you to happy so, I’m not going to get in the way of that.”

Mickey pressed his lips together, sucking on his teeth and considering the best way to respond. On the one hand, Ian probably wouldn’t respond well to being called a fucking idiot, but on the other hand, Ian was a fucking idiot if he thought any of that was true.

“How the fuck could you ever think I want to get back with Chris?” Mickey rolled his eyes and nodded when Ian gave him a pointed look, “Shit, fine, but no. Look, Chris isn’t a fucking bad guy but our relationship was nowhere near as good as I thought it was when we broke up. I get it now, why it didn’t work out, and even though I don’t regret what we had, I also really fucking don’t want it back.” Mickey tentatively stepped forward, moving into Ian’s space, “But what you and I have, fuck, I don’t even know how to describe that. You make me want to be better, not because you need me to be better but because I just want to be for you. You make me smile all the fucking time with your stupid jokes and your dumb smile.”

Mickey reached up to touch Ian’s cheek gently, brushing his fingers along his cheekbone. “Losing Chris was hard, losing you fucking ruined me. If you decide you don’t want to be with me, Chris is still gonna be a part of my past - we’re done. But, God, if you ever decide you forgive me, I will come running every fucking time.”

Ian leaned into Mickey’s hand, letting his palm rest more fully there. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, looking more at peace than he had since Mickey had walked through the door.

“I love you,” Mickey whispered, rubbing his thumb across Ian’s cheek and brushing away a tear. “I love you so fucking much and I’ve never felt this way about anyone else - I’ll never feel this way about anyone else.”

Ian sniffed and swallowed thickly, “Are you sure? You really want me?”

Mickey nodded quickly, “More than anything.”

Ian closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms tightly around Mickey’s torso and burying his face in Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey clung to Ian, running his hands over his back and through his hair, closing his eyes and committing every second of it to his memory. Fuck, he had thought he might never get the chance to hold Ian in his arms ever again.

“I love you,” Mickey whispered over and over, hoping that if he repeated it enough times maybe it would be enough to show exactly how much he did.

“I’m still so fucking mad at you,” Ian said, his voice muffled by Mickey’s shoulder, “You shouldn’t have lied to me, or kissed him, or come over here with a fucking box of my stuff.”

Mickey nodded, “That was misleading, I just needed an excuse, fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

Ian held onto Mickey tighter, breathing him in and kissing the juncture of his neck and shoulder, “We’ll figure it out, just promise you won’t leave me.”

Mickey pulled back just enough that he could look in Ian’s eyes. “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”


	19. nineteen.

Mickey went home alone later that night, but for the first time in a week he didn't have a restless sleep.

The next day Mickey felt rejuvenated and hopeful. He woke up early and stopped to buy a new phone, just a crappy flip phone until he scrounged together the money for a better one, and texted Ian immediately. He spent the day at work thinking about Ian and smiling, texting him on his breaks and at lunch, so deliriously happy that this was his life - that Ian still wanted to be in his life.

The day after, Mickey went over to Ian's house after work. Ian buzzed Mickey into the apartment, opening the door and giving him a brief hug when he got there. It felt awkward and stilted, like they were trying too hard to be back where they were, but unable to really do it. Mickey was too anxious that something he said might remind Ian of everything that had happened with Chris, and Ian seemed to be trying just a little bit too hard to impress Mickey. As the night went on it didn't seem to get much better, they watched a movie and attempted to cuddle but couldn't quite find a point where they were in sync. Mickey left once the movie was over, he considered saying 'I love you' once again before he left but somehow it didn't feel right, instead he said a quick goodbye with a chaste kiss and was out the door.

The next day Mickey rushed to Ian's apartment after work, going through the door at the same time as someone left and running up the flights of stairs to bang on Ian's door.

Ian swung the door open and frowned when he saw Mickey, "Did you text me about coming over?"

Mickey shrugged, breathing heavily, he forgot how fucking difficult running up so many flights of stairs was. "Don't fucking know, don't really care."

Ian snorted and held open the door, "Alright, well, come on in, I guess."

Mickey nodded, pulling off his coat and shoes as soon as he was through the door. He grabbed Ian's arm before he could turn away, letting his hand trail down to Ian's wrist and then to tangle their fingers together. He pulled Ian close, leaning up to kiss him lightly. He smiled and nudged Ian's forehead with his own as he pulled back.

"What was that for?" Ian asked, a smile playing at his own lips.

"You're my boyfriend," Mickey answered, squeezing Ian's hand, "And I love you."

Ian's smile blossomed into a grin, he wrapped his free arm around Mickey's back, pulling him in and drawing him into a deeper kiss. Mickey sighed happily, letting himself fall into the way Ian's lips felt against his; warm and soft, sucking on his lower lip as his tongue teased at the edges. Mickey pulled back slightly, knowing that he couldn't let this happen - not yet, at least.

"I love you too," Ian murmured.

Fuck, that almost destroyed Mickey's resolve.

"Ian," Mickey said, putting a hand on Ian's chest to put some space between them. "We've got to talk about this shit."

"What shit?" Ian teased happily, moving in to kiss Mickey once again.

Mickey turned his head away, letting Ian's lips land on his jawline, not that it seemed to faze Ian. Mickey groaned, the way Ian was touching him felt way too amazing for any mere mortal to be able to resist him. Mickey very reluctantly stepped back, putting enough distance between him and Ian that he could think. "Ian, we need to talk about this shit," Mickey reiterated sternly.

Ian dropped his head back and sighed deeply, "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"It's going to suck, but we need to. I love you so fucking much, and I want to make this work, but we gotta communicate, man."

Ian nodded and stepped in closer, putting his hands on Mickey's hips, "I know that, I do, I just -"

"Wanted to take a minute first?" Mickey finished for him.

Ian huffed out a laugh, "Something like that, but you're right, it's - we've got to do this."

Mickey pulled on Ian’s hand directing him to the couch and sitting down. Ian put his hand on Mickey’s knee, squeezing lightly and taking a deep breath. Mickey reached out to tip Ian’s chin up until their eyes met, he hated how worried and scared Ian looked in that moment. He rubbed his thumb against Ian’s jaw in a small soothing circle and tried his best to smile with confidence.

“Don’t be scared to say something or to be mad, I can take it, I deserve it. Don’t let me off easy just because you think I might leave, I’m not going anywhere.”

Ian smiled minutely, enough to make Mickey’s chest feeling the slightest bit less tight. “You’re such a sap these days,” Ian teased, squeezing Mickey’s knee one last time before leaning back on the couch. “Alright, where do we start?”

They spent hours sitting and talking on Ian's couch. Mickey made sure to be touching Ian constantly, after the week apart Mickey was so starved of the Ian's affection that it seemed unbearable not to (and he had a sneaking suspicion that Ian felt the same way). The conversation wasn't something Mickey was used to, nor something Ian seemed entirely used to either. It was honest and blunt, which wasn't always pleasant but felt necessary. They talked about Chris, Aaron, Ian’s insecurities, Mickey’s insecurities, and how Mickey hurt Ian. At some point Ian had ordered pizza, putting it out on the coffee table, their ankles tangled together as they ate and spoke.

"Do you ever wonder if maybe we moved too fast?" Ian asked, stuffing the last bit of crust in his mouth and chewing.

Mickey heart leapt into his throat, "What do you mean?"

His voice must have come off as startled and scared as he felt because Ian immediately started shaking his head. "Shit, that came out wrong," Ian apologized and reached over to put his hand on Mickey's knee. "I didn't mean like we shouldn't have started dating, fuck, I just meant that maybe our relationship went a little fast?"

"You mean because we were going to move in together?"

Ian nodded, pressing his lips into a thin, tight line, "It felt right at the time, but we haven't actually been together all that long."

"Trust me, Ian, doesn't matter how long you date for; doesn't mean it works out."

"No," Ian said, staring at the coffee table intensely, "But we already almost didn't work out."

"Ian-"

"I just think," Ian continued, his voice raised to cut Mickey off, "That after everything it might be best to take a step back."

Mickey gripped the couch cushion tightly, clenching his jaw as he let Ian's words wash over him. The idea of stepping back made his chest ache; it was the opposite of what Mickey wanted. If anything, their week apart had only solidified how desperately Mickey wanted to be with Ian. He wondered if he hadn't made that clear enough, or if maybe Ian didn't feel the same, or if Ian just didn't know how to trust him anymore.

He probably deserved that.

Mickey licked his lips, huffing out a breath before saying, "I want to live with you, Ian."

"I know."

"Do you?" Mickey asked softly, turning his head to look at Ian imploringly.

Ian’s head dropped, he breathed out loudly and shook his head. “No,” Ian croaked, “fuck, I’m sorry, but no.”

Mickey swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly dry and scratchy. He cleared his throat with a loud cough and nodded, “Alright.”

“I want to, I do, I just can’t.” Ian explained quietly, “I just feel like we were taking this huge step and I was so sure that this was going to be it - that you were going to be it - and then you pulled all of this shit.”

Mickey felt himself drawing back, “So you don’t believe that I can commit?”

Ian’s eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, taking Mickey’s hands in his and holding them tightly, “It’s not that, Mick. You can commit, I know you can, it’s not a question if you can.”

“Then what is it?”

Ian pressed his lips in a tight line, holding Mickey’s confused gaze for a long moment before finally saying, “I don’t believe that you really want to commit.”

“I fucking told you I did!” Mickey defended loudly, he knew he was supposed to try and stay calm, but, fuck, how could he? Except Ian wanted him to stay calm. Mickey took a deep breath and calmed himself, just slightly, before continuing. “I don’t know what to say to make you believe me.”

Ian shrugged sadly, “I don’t know either.”

Mickey pulled one of his hands away to rub at his eyes harshly, he collapsed against Ian with his palm still covering his eyes and frown etched onto his face. Ian turned his head to press a kiss against Mickey’s forehead and whispered, “I love you,” against his skin.

Mickey dropped his hands, reaching over to squeeze one of Ian’s, and breathed in slowly, “So, we’re not moving in together then.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“‘Aight, so how much fucking further back do we need to step?” Mickey asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I don’t know,” Ian responded quietly, he sounded more timid now and Mickey hated it. He wished that he could calm down a bit, make Ian feel more comfortable with what he was saying; that was the whole fucking point after all. “Maybe we should spend a little more time apart too?” Ian said, “Like a couple days a week.”

Mickey bit down on his lower lip, holding himself back from snapping at Ian. He hated the idea of being without Ian, he didn’t want to spend a single day alone knowing that he could be spending it with Ian. “Do you want that?” Mickey asked.

Ian shook his head, brushing his fingers over the hairs at the nape of Mickey’s neck, leaning down to nose at his neck and jaw, leaving soft kisses on his skin. “I want to be with you every day,” Ian whispered.

“Ian, if you don’t want all this fucking shit then why are you saying it?”

Ian pulled back to meet Mickey’s eyes and breathed in deeply, “Because I think you might.”

“Ian-”

“I know you don’t think that,” Ian cut off Mickey quickly, “I fucking know it, Mick, but I also know that sometimes people don’t really know what they want. Sometimes they think they want one thing, or say they want one thing, but they don’t.”

“Ian-”

“And I know that you don’t think that is you, and fuck, I mostly think that too, but not completely. There’s still this fucking part of me that doesn’t believe you really want me and this. I don’t know how to change it, I don’t know how to make it better, I really fucking wish I did, but I don’t. I love you and I want to be with you, but I just need this right now, okay?”

Mickey ached, felt like his heart was being crushed by a vice, but he swallowed and nodded unable to argue with Ian anymore. More than anything he wanted Ian to feel safe, happy, and comfortable. If that meant Mickey had to sacrifice a few days with Ian every week, so be it.

“Alright, what else?”

“We should go on more dates, maybe?” Ian said hesitantly, “I don’t fucking know.”

Mickey felt a small fond smile as he watched Ian bashfully duck his head. Yes, Mickey would do just about anything the adorable redheaded idiot asked him to.

“We’ll go on more dates,” Mickey confirmed, once again grabbing Ian’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “Wherever the fuck you want.”

* * *

Days without Ian were slow and aching, the texting made it easier, but honestly Mickey hated the few days a week that Ian continued to enforce that they needed to be apart. What made it worse was that the days with Ian seemed to fly past, every damn time. Mickey felt like he was barely stepping into Ian’s apartment before he was being ushered back out. It was hard and painful, but Ian wanted that small amount of space and Mickey couldn’t say no.

Mickey had no right to dictate how much time Ian wanted to spend with him.

The weeks seemed to go past with the same ‘start and stop’ feeling until a month had gone by. Mickey started to plan events closer together, going to a movie on Monday when Ian had made reservations for dinner on Tuesday, and some sort of bowling or mini golf or fucking hanging out with Mandy on Wednesday. He asked far enough in advance that Ian never realized how close all of the plans were, but Ian never seemed to mind once it happened. Just smiled and shook his head at Mickey, calling him sneaky and giving him a kiss.

Mickey sometimes wondered how long it would take to get back to a space that Ian felt comfortable to be together in the same way they were before. He ached for that kind of commitment and companionship, and for as long as he would wait for Ian, he also wished that the awkward place they were in was quickly coming to an end immediately.

Because even though he knew he had Ian, that Ian was his boyfriend, it still didn’t completely feel like it.

It felt like they were stretched out, being pulled apart by an invisible force, holding each other’s hand as tightly as they could and just praying that the other didn’t let go. And while there was no way in hell Mickey would ever let go, his arm was still starting to get tired.

* * *

For Mickey, seeing the Gallaghers for the first time since his and Ian’s fallout was a tense situation. Ian wasn’t one to talk about his problems, Mickey knew that because it was like pulling teeth to get Ian to admit something was bothering him, but he still knew that his siblings had heard what happened.

There had been a night, or a couple nights, that Ian had self-medicated - not unlike Mickey - and ended up calling Lip. He had been a mess apparently, going out to a dance club and drinking until he could barely stand, dancing with whoever had felt like dancing with him (that had been a whole different conversation, one that had made Mickey feel more guilt than anger when Ian had said, “I thought it was you - hoped it was you - every time, I thought it was you until I turned around and it wasn’t.”). Mickey had been grateful when Ian told him that he’d had enough sense to call Lip but now as they entered the Gallagher house he felt a flood of anxiety, knowing that at the very least Fiona and Lip would be less than fond of him.

“Mickey!” Liam screeched as they walked in, announcing their presence immediately. Liam ran over and wrapped his little arms around Mickey’s waist, smiling up at him brightly.

Mickey smiled down and patted Liam’s head, at least one of the Gallaghers didn’t hate him. “Hey, kid, how’s it going?”

“Good,” Liam answered, it was an automatic response but nothing in the way he said it made Mickey think it wasn’t true. Liam pulled away from Mickey, going over to be swept up in Ian’s arms and spun around, giggling and squealing as Ian pressed a big sloppy kiss to his cheek.

Ian put Liam down on the floor, laughing when the child wiped his cheek and muttered, “You’re gross.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian said with a laugh, already stepping past him to hug Debbie, “You too, little guy.”

Debbie hugged Ian and gave Mickey a quick wave before going back to the couch where she was playing some sort of shooter game with Carl. Carl barely spared either Ian or Mickey a short nod and said, “Hey.”

Mickey swallowed nervously as Ian lead him to the kitchen, where he knew both Fiona and Lip would be. He had thought he might have been able to handle Fiona if it was just her, had even wondered if maybe Lip wouldn’t be able to make it down from college, but it was Debbie’s birthday so he knew that wasn’t likely.

Mickey’s assumption was confirmed when he saw Lip sitting on one of the stools at the counter across from where Fiona was stirring something in a large pot on the stove. Whatever it was smelled delicious - an aroma of tomatoes and herbs - and Mickey tried to focus on that instead of how eerily and suddenly silent the room was.

Fiona glanced at the two of them and smiled brightly, “Hey guys, wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ian said, going over to counter to sit down next to Lip.

Mickey shuffled into the room awkwardly to stand next to Ian, waving and trying his best to smile politely at Fiona. Lip didn’t spare him a glance and Mickey knew that he would probably be getting a fucking earful later.

“How you doing?” Lip asked Ian, “Everything good?” Mickey felt Lip’s eyes on him, but didn’t bother to match his stare. Lip was digging in and looking for a rise, Mickey wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah, amazing,” Ian answered with a dopey grin, reaching out to grab Mickey’s hand and pull him over to stand beside him.

“Seriously?” Lip chastised.

Lip seemed like he had more to say but his words were cut off sharply when Fiona said, “Supper is gonna be ready real soon, you all wanna set the table?”

Mickey saw through the thinly veiled excuse to avoid a blow up at Debbie’s birthday supper, but neither he nor Lip mentioned it. This wasn’t the time to get into it, whether they actually would or not.

Supper was a classic Gallagher affair. They ate with loud and boisterous conversation, Debbie telling everyone about her day, her schoolwork and friends, and everyone allowing her to have this one day to be her day, leaving her the absolute centre of attention. Carl teased her some but no more than she could still take with a smile and laugh, honestly for how weird the kid was it surprised Mickey that he could also be such a softie to the people he loved.

Though Mickey supposed he was probably a little like that too.

The meal ended with an out of tune singing of ‘Happy Birthday’ and loud cheers when Debbie blew out the candles on her cake.

Mickey excused himself while Fiona was cutting and passing out the cake, even though the evening was going by much better than he expected he was still tense and he really fucking needed smoke and a second alone. He stepped out the backdoor, inhaling the crisp air and feeling himself relax. It was spring now, technically, and the last few drifts of snow were slowly melting away, even the chillier evenings were starting to get warmer with each passing day.

“Didn’t think you’d get off that easy, did you?”

Mickey plucked a cigarette from the pack before shoving the rest back in his pocket. He took his time placing it between his lips and lighting it before turning around and accepting that this argument was happening.

Lip looked smug as hell, leaned back against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest. Mickey pulled from the cigarette, holding the smoke for a long moment before exhaling smoothly, “Honestly, didn’t think it would take this long.”

“Not ruining Debs party because you’re a dick,” Lip answered, tapping his fingers against his elbow as he watched Mickey with his signature bored eyes. It was a lie though, like everything Lip was trying to emulate, the smug and bored look was just another lie in his twisted game of outlasting the other. Mickey wasn’t interested in that shit.

Mickey clicked his tongue and took another drag, “Say what you gotta say, man, it’ll be better for both of us if you just get it out sooner.”

Lip narrowed his eyes and pushed away from the railing, “You fucked up, you hurt him.”

“And I talked to him, we figured shit out and Ian forgave me,” Mickey said with a sneer, “So I don’t see why I have you explain myself to your entitled ass.”

Lip took a deep breath and shook his head, “You know, that first night that he called me I couldn’t believe it. I’ve seen Ian in bad shape, never that bad. When I found him, he was so fucking messed up that he barely recognized me - I still don’t know what he was on. He kept talking about you, how he loved you and missed you. He woke up the next morning, didn’t remember anything from the night before, didn’t even seem to care.” Lip shook his head and scratched at his hair, “When I came to pick him up the second night he was outside a club, shaking and passed out on the side of the fucking street.”

Mickey gritted his teeth. He had known this would be the conversation and that Lip would tell him all the details he had never wanted to know, but fuck, he still hadn’t been prepared for this. Ian had told him everything that he knew and remembered, though the specifics had been foggy it had been enough for Mickey to know that he didn’t want to know more.

“Nothing happened, nothing happened with anyone, you should know that.” Lip added coolly, “But everything else that did happen, all that shit - that’s on you.” 

Mickey already knew that. Ian had told Mickey it wasn’t his fault, that whatever Ian had done was still his own burden to bear, that Mickey hadn’t forced him to do anything, but fuck, that was still how it felt. It didn’t help that Lip clearly felt the same way.

“I don’t trust you with him,” Lip said.

Mickey took one final long drag before dropping the remaining stub and squashing it under his boot. He looked back at Lip, nostrils flaring as he moved into Lip’s space, depending on old intimidation tactics. “I don’t fucking care if you trust me, I don’t give a shit about you, I care about Ian and as long as he says he wants me, I’m gonna be here. There’s not a fucking thing you can do about that. You want to be a pissy bitch every time you see me, fine, do whatever the fuck you want, but it’s not gonna change a fucking thing between me and him.”

Lip was silent for a long stretch of time, holding Mickey’s burning glare with his own, before finally saying, “You’re going to fuck up again and he’s not going to take you back a second time.”

Mickey shook his head, pressing his lips tightly together, “Not happening, not ever again.”

“Pretty confident in that,” Lip said, his voice seeming to tone down just the slightest bit, like he was genuinely curious.

Mickey huffed and stepped back, finally giving both Lip and himself some breathing room. He sucked on his lower lip for a second, building up to say with confidence what he knew he needed to say. Fuck, it felt so much harder now, in front of Ian’s asshole brother.

“He’s it for me, he’s fucking everything,” Mickey admitted quietly, eyes strictly on the ground. “Losing that once - fuck, you don’t know what that’s like. There’s no way I’m ever letting that happen again.”

Some wind blew past the deck, rustling from below could be heard, making the long gap of silence that much more poignant. Mickey felt awkward and uncomfortable having just bared his heart out to Lip. He hoped that at least it would be enough to end the conversation, if not to get Lip to lay off.

“I’m not going to get over this, not after seeing him like that, not for a long fucking time,” Lip finally said, quieter now than he had been before. “You still gonna be with him when I do?”

Mickey swallowed and nodded, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Good.”

The door swung open and Ian stepped outside, arms wrapped around his torso and shivering in his t-shirt. Mickey couldn’t help a smile from gracing his lips as he watched the adorable way Ian shuffled over next to Mickey and wrapped his arms around Mickey’s torso, tucking his arms in Mickey’s jacket.

“I was wondering where you two went,” Ian murmured, tilting his head so he could look at Lip too. “It’s fucking cold out here.”

Mickey reached up to brush his fingers through Ian’s hair, “Only for the dumbasses who don’t wear a jacket.”

Ian huffed, “Dick.”

“Alright, I’m going inside, this is getting a little too warm and fuzzy for me.” Lip said before stomping back inside, giving Mickey a mocking salute before walking in the door and slamming it shut.

“You okay?” Ian asked quietly, clinging to Mickey just a bit tighter.

Mickey nodded, “Fine.”

Ian leaned down, nuzzling his nose against Mickey’s neck and inhaling deeply as he mumbled something incomprehensible.

Mickey snorted, “Can’t hear a fucking word you’re saying.”

Ian tilted his head up, repeating, “I know that Lip wasn’t just out here to have a friendly chat.”

Mickey frowned, “No, but it’s alright. I knew it was gonna happen and now it’s over. I’m good.”

Ian nodded, trusting Mickey’s words and wrapping himself tightly around Mickey once again. Mickey thought maybe they should go inside, but he was enjoying the warmth of Ian against him and the break of peace and quiet from the chaos of the Gallagher house. Mickey continued to pet Ian’s hair, smiling as he felt Ian’s shivering subside and the hum against his neck. He thought he would probably be content to stay out there, holding Ian in his arms, for the rest of eternity. How fucking sappy was that.

“Did he bring up those nights?” Ian whispered, the slight shake to his voice giving away his worry.

“Yeah,” Mickey whispered back, “It’s okay though, Ian.”

Ian started to nodded but stopped himself, he sighed deeply and shook his head as he lifted his head. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Mick. He shouldn’t have and I don’t want you to have to hear about it all again, fuck.”

Mickey put his hands on Ian’s cheeks directing his eyes to meet Mickey’s. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, alright? You got fucked up, I got fucked up too, we just did it in different ways. Stop feeling bad for trying to cope.”

“As long as you do too,” Ian dropped a light kiss to Mickey’s lips, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he pulled back. “Don’t let Lip make you feel like an asshole.”

“I was an asshole.”

“And I’m an adult,” Ian shot back softly, “I make my own stupid decisions, you don’t make them for me. We’re moving forward, right?”

Mickey nodded and tilted his head to pull Ian into one more kiss, reveling in the feel of his lips against Mickey’s, the soft almost rhythmic movements. Mickey hummed happily as they parted once again and tugged at the bottom of Ian’s shirt, “Let’s go back in, you’re gonna turn into a fucking popsicle out here.”

“Does that mean you’ll give me a lick?” Ian asked with a cheeky grin.

Mickey groaned and shook his head, shoving Ian away by his shoulder, “You are so fucking lame, man.”

Mickey walked back into the house with Ian laughing loudly and following behind.

* * *

“Do you want to marry, Ian?”

Mickey looked up from where he was doodling at the table, Liam was next to him, kicking out his feet and colouring in a picture of Barbie and Ken at a wedding altar, not even bothering to look up despite the sudden and terrifying question he just posed.

Debbie’s party had picked up more, most of the family in the living room playing some game and drinking beers. Mickey had felt a bit awkward with the family and when Liam had said he was bored and wanted to colour, Mickey was quick to offer to watch him (which Liam had seemed fairly excited for, making Mickey grin as he realized the kid still liked him as much as he liked the kid).

“Mickey,” Liam whined when Mickey didn’t answer fast enough, “Do you?”

It didn’t make it any easier that Ian was sitting right across from both of them with a smug smile as he watched the interaction, offering no help at all.

Mickey cleared his throat, staring down at the sheet he’d been doodling on and trying not to feel too exposed or awkward when he said, “Someday, maybe, if he wants to.”

“He does,” Liam told Mickey plainly, not even pausing to think about it.

Mickey took a chance, glancing up to see a faint blush on Ian’s cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck. Mickey bit down on his lower lip to hold back an overwhelmingly large grin.

“What do married people do?” Liam asked, picking up a blue crayon and messily filling in Barbie’s skirt.

Mickey shrugged, “Not married, kid, I don’t know. What do you think they do?”

Liam hummed and tapped his crayon against his chin thoughtfully, “Complain about bills and drink coffee, and then they take care of babies.”

Ian laughed loudly and grabbed a crayon from Liam’s pile, making a swirl on his page and going over it again. “You mean like Kev and Vee?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Liam scribbled some more on the page, switching crayons to pink for Barbie’s hair, “Married people also kiss all the time.”

Ian nodded, “That’s a good thing though, right?”

Liam sighed and shook his head, pursing his lips tightly, “It’s gross.”

Mickey snorted and snatched up a yellow crayon, his drawing of some hills and mountains seeming incomplete with a bright yellow sun in the corner. “Super gross,” Mickey teased, giving Ian a sly smile.

Liam lifted his eyes from the page to watch Mickey skeptically, “But you kiss Ian _all the time_.”

Mickey shook his head, “Do not.”

“I see you do it!” Liam argued with a smile, seeming to catch onto the game Mickey was playing with him. “Ian,” He said, changing tactics, “Do you kiss Mickey all the time?”

Ian crossed his arms and sighed, leaning back, “Apparently not.”

Liam rolled his eyes, lifting and dropping his arms heavily on the table with a dramatic thump. “Mickey’s lying though.”

Ian pushed out his chair and circled around the table, slowly making his way over to stand behind Mickey’s chair. “Well, you know,” He said with a little smirk, “If Mickey doesn’t think I kiss him, that probably means I should kiss him more, right?” Ian leaned over Mickey’s shoulder, his nose brushing against Mickey’s cheek, “I mean, we’re supposed to get married, right?”

Mickey felt his breath catch, just slightly, as he heard the words whispered so closely. He glanced over to meet Ian’s eyes, and suddenly the moment felt so intimate that he nearly forgot they were in the Gallagher house, surrounded by Ian’s family and friends.

Ian leaned in then, pressing his lips to Mickey’s lightly, too lightly for Mickey’s taste, and pulling back less than a second later.

“I knew I was right!” Liam cheered from beside Mickey, poking him in the side until Mickey tore his gaze away from Ian to see Liam’s large and triumphant grin. Mickey couldn’t help the swell of fondness at the sight, Liam always looked the most like Ian when he smiled like that.

“Yeah, alright, you won.” Mickey conceded, then turned to pull Ian into another kiss. It was harder this time but just as short, just enough to get a long and prominent sigh from Liam and a beautiful starry-eyed look from Ian.

“Ian!” Fiona screeched from the other room, “Come in here, we need you to measure yourself against Kev!”

Ian rolled his eyes, shooting Mickey a soft smile before he walked back around the table and towards the living room. “I can tell you right now that I’m not taller than him,” Ian said, his voice becoming muffled after he walked into the living room.

Liam looked up at Mickey and sighed, “You know, you gotta buy a house if you wanna get married.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows, “I do?”

“Married people gotta have a place to live, so if you wanna marry Ian someday then you have to buy a house.”

Mickey laughed and nodded, wondering if Liam was at all aware of how expensive buying a house was, especially in Chicago. Mickey decided to just smile and nod, agreeing to Liam’s decision that it was a necessity before marriage.

“So I gotta buy a house then?”

Liam rolled his eyes, as if Mickey were being stupid, “Yes, Mickey.”

* * *

The walk back to Ian’s apartment from the El was beautiful. It was still a little cool out, but Ian didn’t seem to mind so much when he had his coat on. Usually the walk only took a few minutes but this time Ian slowed it down, reaching over to twine his fingers with Mickey’s and pull him in the opposite direction.

“Just for a bit,” He said softly, and Mickey had walked beside him happily.

There was no wind and not a cloud in the sky, which strangely allowed for the stars to shine just a little brightly, even from the middle of the city. Ian pulled Mickey along until they reached a little park, directing him to a bench and sitting down. Mickey sat beside him, wrapping his arm over Ian’s shoulder and pulling him close. Ian leaned against him, keeping his eyes on the sky even as he tucked himself in against Mickey’s side. Mickey didn’t bother looking at the sky or the stars, knowing that no matter what it looked like up there he would much rather watch Ian. It was sappy as hell and he felt like a fucking idiot the second the thought passed through his head, but, fuck, there was a damn thing in the universe that could compare to being able to just watch Ian, to hold Ian in his arms, to kiss his lips. Not a fucking thing.

“So, I guess Liam wants us to get hitched, huh?” Mickey murmured, taking the opportunity to brush his fingers through Ian’s hair.

“Seems like it.”

“Wonder if anybody told Lip.”

Ian huffed out a laugh and grabbed one of Mickey’s hands, seeming to instinctively know that the joke still held some fear. Ian’s family was important to him, which meant being liked by Ian’s family was important as well, whether Ian admitted it or not.

“He’ll get over it,” Ian said, “Besides, it’s not like we’re actually getting married.”

Mickey nodded and settled in against Ian again, enjoying the silence of the night and Ian’s warm body pressed against him. Except he couldn’t get one pressing thought out of his head. “That something you think you’d want?”

“Getting married?”

Mickey sucked on his teeth, working up the nerve before saying, “Yeah.”

Ian turned his head, looking up at Mickey, his eyebrows drawn together but eyes wide, like he was a little startled by the question. “I’ve never really thought about it, I guess, just assumed that it would never happen. Not in a bad way, I guess, just in a way that when you’re gay growing up in that neighbourhood, you know?”

Mickey nodded, he did. Growing up in that neighbourhood, with his family and his dad, he couldn’t even fathom having a boyfriend or a consistent fuck buddy, never mind a husband. He couldn’t imagine that it was much different for Ian, his family was more accepting but that didn’t mean his classmates or his neighbours were. He wondered if Ian thought he would end up like his old (old being the keyword) boyfriend Kash; having a wife and kids with a side piece to make it bearable. Mickey knew he thought that would be his life, probably without the side piece.

“Did you ever…?” Ian prompted quietly.

“No, same as you, didn’t even seem like it could be a fucking thing - not something I wanted anyways.” Mickey answered. Mickey felt Ian pick up the hand still rest on his lap, turning it over so his palm was up, Ian started tracing his fingers over Mickey’s, making invisible lines. It was a habit of Ian’s, something he did when he was thinking a little harder than usual.

Mickey leaned over, kissing the top of Ian’s head and holding himself there and closing his eyes, just to take in the moment, remember it and treasure it. It reminded him a little of all those instagram pictures of Ian’s, all the moments he had loved and missed, staring at them and thinking that he might never get to have another one of those moments again. And then here he was, seemingly against all odds, with Ian beside him. Sometimes it hit him like that, just how fucking lucky he was to have this.

“Hey,” Mickey said softly, moving to kiss Ian’s cheekbone, just beside his ear before whispering, “I love you.”

Ian beamed, drawing Mickey into a tender kiss, wrapping a large hand behind his neck and holding him close. “Fuck, you’re amazing, you know that?” Ian muttered as he drew back just enough to speak.

Mickey shrugged, “I’m alright.”

Ian shook his head, just the smallest amount, his nose bumping into Mickey’s at the motion. “Just agree with me,” and then Ian kissed him again.

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey said, feeling a little breathless when Ian pulled away. Ian smiled proudly, tucking himself back into stare up at the stars.

They stayed like that for a while longer, cuddled under the stars in silence, until Mickey couldn’t hold himself back from saying, “You didn’t really answer though, before, about the marriage thing.” He stopped and swallowed, “You’d you want it?”

Ian glanced up at Mickey, “Yeah, maybe, someday. Not the wedding or a ceremony, but having someone commit to me forever and to commit to someone forever - yeah, I’d want that.”

Ian relaxed back again, not bothering to ask the question in return. Mickey wondered if maybe he saw how hard it was for Mickey to talk about and decided not to push it any further. Mickey knew what he would have said if Ian asked though, and couldn’t help but feeling glad Ian didn’t ask. Whatever he was going to say probably would have sounded too much like a proposal.

But maybe that was what he needed, something to show Ian exactly how deeply and crazily in love he was, how sure he was that there wouldn’t be any one that could compare to Ian. Not a proposal, Mickey couldn’t stand that, but maybe something else.

And just like that, an idea formed.

* * *

Mickey’s job started to take over his life. The extra hours were painful and frustrating, not only for Mickey but for Ian as well. Ian never commented on it, never asked Mickey just to take the night off, but Mickey could see it in the way his eyes would drop when Mickey said he had to work - losing a little sparkle that Mickey loved to see so much.

It hurt, being the cause of that sadness, but Mickey had an end goal. It started out feeling ridiculous, the idea of buying a fucking house, something that Mickey would never be able to afford or even hope to afford, but as the months went past it stopped seeming so farfetched. He had started out with a small amount of money put aside but his savings were growing exponentially, he had more money coming in than he ever had in his life, and it was showing. He had even gone into a realtor’s office a couple days earlier to discuss what sort of options he might be looking at. He knew he didn’t look like the kind of guy who could be a homeowner, and while he had tried to dress up a little bit, he knew his knuckle tattoos were like a beacon to professional business workers.

The realtor didn’t seem put off by him though, instead she was excited and helpful. She got his yearly income, how long he’s been at his place of work, asked about what he was looking to put down as a deposit and got to looking. Apparently there were quite a few options in his range. Sure, none of the places were the most beautiful, and all of them would probably need some work, but it was still a house or an apartment.

A place that Mickey would own. That was fucking crazy to him.

The realtor gave Mickey her card, her name - Eleanor Stern - in large bold letters next to her smiling face. She told Mickey that she would give him a call in a few days and they could set up times to look at the houses. Mickey shook her hand and agreed, baffled by how fucking far he had come in a few months.

But despite Mickey’s giddiness at feeling like he was finally taking some sort of gigantic step to improve his life, he also felt a heaviness in his chest. Being away from Ian really did fucking hurt, even if he did still see him in between his work schedule.

He stopped for a moment on the street, at the turning point from the train stop to either go to his apartment or to Monty’s. Mickey didn’t take long to debate it, even though he knew he had to work early tomorrow, he couldn’t resist the draw of seeing Ian’s beautiful, surprised smile.

He took the chance to bask in the rare warm summer air of the night as he walked the short block to Monty’s. Barely five minutes going past before he was pushing open the wooden door and walking into the pub. Ian was at the bar, pouring a beer from tap for one of the men sitting at the bar and joking with him happily. Mickey couldn’t help himself from smiling at the sight of his boyfriend, he was just happy to be around Ian.

“What are you doing here?” Mandy asked mockingly, like she were scandalized by his very presence. She quirked an eyebrow and smirked, effortless holding a drink tray up with one hand as she sidled up to Mickey.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said, barely giving his sister any attention, instead choosing once again to focus on Ian.

Mandy laughed easily and ignored Mickey’s attempts at hostility, “I thought you were going home to sleep, Grandpa. Gotta work your nineteen billionth shift in a row tomorrow, right?”

Mickey grimaced, clearly Ian hadn’t kept his frustrations to himself. Mickey hated that he was upsetting Ian, but he just needed to keep reminding himself that in the end it would all be worth it. Mickey lifted his middle finger, raised his eyebrows pointedly at Mandy and clearly said, “Fuck off.”

Mandy rolled her eyes, “Whatever…” She sauntered over to the bar, calling out, “ _Ian,_ your boyfriend's here.”

Ian looked up from his conversation, frowning at Mandy for a second before he saw Mickey just behind her. His eyes lit up and Mickey knew, without a single doubt, that even with the sleep he wouldn’t be getting, that damn face was worth it.

Mickey shuffled over to the bar, dropping onto a stool and smiling up at Ian as settled in front of Mickey. “Don’t you need to go home and sleep?” Ian asked, clearly trying his best to play the role of supportive boyfriend, but was still unable to hide his excitement at seeing Mickey.

“I like you more than I like sleep,” Mickey answered simply, reaching out to grab Ian’s chin and draw him in close. They were barely a breath apart as Mickey whispered, “Missed ya.”

Ian closed the distance between them, just barely brushing his lips again Mickey’s before pressing in firmer, slotting their mouths and sucking on Mickey’s tongue. Fuck, it had been way too fucking long and Mickey couldn’t believe how good it felt. Mickey used his hand gripping Ian’s chin, dragging it down over his throat and chest, before moving up to grip the back of Ian’s neck and draw him in closer.

Mandy gagging and saying, “You’re in public, shitheads,” ruined the moment.

Ian kissed Mickey lightly once again before sighing happily and stepping away, “Jesus Christ, I love you.”

“Never took you for a religious man,” Mandy quipped, doing a fine job at being a massively annoying cockblock.

Ian chuckled and draped an arm over Mandy’s shoulder, tugging her into a sideways hug. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Mandy grinned up at him, “Yeah, and you laughed so don’t even pretend you don’t think so too.”

Ian conceded to the point, nodding and saying, “Yeah, alright.” He focused his attention back on Mickey as Mandy was called away, leaning on the bar and smiling like a dope, “How was work?”

“Long, fucking shitty,” Mickey tilted his head, feeling his neck cracking from the movement, “Little sore.”

Ian didn’t say a word, just pushed away from where he stood to circle around the bar and come up behind Mickey. He lifted his hands to start massaging at Mickey’s shoulders, digging his thumbs into Mickey’s neck and loosening the tight bundles. Mickey dropped his head, grunting quietly when Ian found a particularly tight muscle and continued to knead it.

“You seem stressed,” Ian said, sounding slightly hesitant.

Mickey grunted in response, he didn’t know what to say otherwise. He was stressed and tired, so fucking stressed and tired, but he was so close now. Only a few more weeks, maybe a month, he could make this happen.

“You sure you want to be working these hours? Seems like a lot, Mick.”

Mickey lifted his head, looking over his shoulder to see the look of concern on Ian’s face and tried his best to give Ian a convincing smile. “I’m good, I’ve got this,” Mickey said soothingly, “Won’t be working like this much longer, promise.”

Ian pressed his lips tightly together and nodded, he didn’t seem entirely convinced. Mickey spun around in his seat, effectively ending his massage, but he didn’t care. All Mickey cared about now was getting that worried, sad look off of Ian’s face. Mickey looped an arm around Ian’s back and pulled him in to stand between Mickey’s legs.

“I’m alright, Ian, you’re gonna get fucking stress lines if you don’t stop with this,” Mickey reached up to brush his thumb at the corner of Ian’s lips.

Ian huffed and even smiled, “You’re gonna give me fucking stress lines.” He bent his neck, kissing Mickey gently and pressing their foreheads together, “But I guess you’re worth it.”

“You guess?”

“I know.”

“Seriously, I’m going to puke,” Mandy snapped as she walked past. Neither Mickey nor Ian moved apart, both of them too content to just stay there huddled together, but Mickey did wave his middle finger in a vaguely in the direction Mandy’s voice had come from.

“You coming over tonight?” Ian asked, startling Mickey a little bit, it wasn’t one of their decided upon nights to spend together, and yet Ian was inviting him over.

“You sure?” Mickey asked, nervous that Ian might change his mind.

Ian nodded, lips curling up at the corners as he wrapped a hand around Mickey’s neck, just holding him close. “Yeah, please?” Ian murmured, “I really fucking miss you.”

Mickey felt like he had turned to mush, Ian’s words making his heart feel like it was about to burst. “Alright,” He answered happily, “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

* * *

“Just keep your eyes closed,” Mickey said, holding Ian's hand tightly as they walked down the street. It was just a little further up and Ian was driving him insane by being so impatient. It was definitely the last time Mickey would ever get a surprise for Ian. He rounded the corner, pulling out the keys and unlocking the main door before dragging Ian in behind him.

“Can I open them now?” Ian asked, “Where the fuck are we?”

“Just fucking wait,” Mickey chastised grumpily. He was already antsy and nervous, not entirely sure how this whole _‘I bought an apartment for you and me to live in together, even though you told me that we should be taking a step back’_ thing would go. It wasn’t even that nice of a place, better than Mickey’s apartment, but definitely shittier than Ian’s. There probably wouldn’t be much of an incentive for Ian to even move in. Except maybe there was that tiny sliver of a chance that Mickey was completely off base and Ian actually fucking would move in.

Mickey swallowed as they climbed the stairs, he had opted to avoid the elevator, deciding that if he had to stand still he would probably go insane with anxiety. It didn’t seem to be making much of a difference though.

“Mick, are you taking me somewhere to kill me?” Ian asked teasingly with a smirk.

Mickey snorted loudly, “Fuck off.”

“Or are we going to your superhero lair? Are you Batman?”

“Getting real tired of your shit, Ian.” Mickey said poking Ian’s side before he swung open the door to the stairwell and they stepped into the hallway. It was fairly well light but the wall and floor color made the whole hall seem like it was a dark yellow, not that it mattered, he didn’t buy the fucking hallway after all.

Mickey reached the door, finally letting go of Ian’s hand to dig the keys out once again. His nerves nearly getting the better of him before he looked over at Ian, giggling to himself with his eyes tightly shut and Mickey knew without a doubt that one way or another, however this turned out, he wouldn’t regret it and he swung the door open.

Mickey twined his fingers with Ian, pulling him into the apartment and closing the door behind them. It was a little cold in the room, like the heat hadn’t been on in a while, though Mickey supposed it probably hadn’t. The place was open concept; the kitchen, dining room, and living room all making up one large room. The carpet was grey and clearly older, the appliances in the kitchen white and a little stained, the cabinets were a medium brown and the counters light grey and chipped. There were just two doors leading away from the main room, one that went to the bedroom and the other to the bathroom. There was another door between the two as well, the only thing Mickey had really missed about his room at his Dad’s house. It wasn’t beautiful or magnificent, it needed work and none of their furniture would match anything else, but none of that mattered to Mickey. The second he stepped inside the door with Ian next to him it felt like home.

“You can open your eyes,” Mickey said, his voice shaking a little as he clung to Ian’s hand tighter.

Ian opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times and turning his head to take in the surroundings. He frowned and looked down at Mickey, “I’m a little confused, why are we in an empty apartment? Are we fucking here? That carpet doesn’t look like much cushioning.”

Mickey bit his lower lip, worrying it with his teeth and shaking his head, “I bought it.”

Ian blinked once again, eyes widening, “You what?”

“I bought it.”

Ian opened and closed his mouth a couple times, once again looking around at the apartment, “You bought it.” He took a shaky breath and squeezed Mickey’s hand, “Okay, I don’t want you to think that this isn’t amazing, because it is, fuck Mickey, it is.” He looked down at Mickey and smiled, “But buying me an apartment doesn’t magically make everything perfect, you know? I doesn’t fix all our problems, we’re still working on being better.”

Mickey swallowed and nodded, “I know, I know that, but I didn’t buy it for you.”

Ian flushed, “Oh, you didn’t, oh. I just assumed, you said you had a surprise and I just - shit, sorry. It’s for you! Of course it’s for you.”

Mickey stepped in front of Ian, grabbing his chin and directing him back to look at Mickey. “I know that an apartment doesn’t fix everything, I know that we are still working on this, but I think at some point you’ve got to realize that we’re always going to be working on this, because I’m never gonna be perfect but there is never gonna be a fucking day that I don’t want to be for you. I think that’s what makes it a fucking good relationship, the trying and communicating and wanting the best for the other guy, that’s the stuff that makes us good.” Mickey took a deep breath, his hand was shaking as he spoke, but he was determined, “I love you and I’m always gonna love you. You keep telling me that you think I don’t know that I don’t want this, but that’s such fucking bullshit, because you’re the only goddamn person in this world I want. Good times, bad times, sickness, health; I’m fucking here, Ian. I’m here for all of it.”

Ian’s eyes glistened with tears, he sniffed, “But Mick, the apartment-”

“I didn’t buy _you_ an apartment, I bought us an apartment. It’s for our fucking future together, or whatever.” Mickey fumbled a little, feeling too exposed and scared to keep speaking much longer, “You don’t have to move in, nobody’s making you, I’m not gonna break up with you if you need a little time. I just need you to know that this is what I want, I want you and me to have a whole fucking life together.”

“Holy shit,” Ian choked out, wiping at his eyes with his free hand, “Fuck.” Ian smiled then, large and beautiful, and Mickey felt like he could breathe again. “You bought us an apartment,” Ian said dreamily, waving a hand out at the empty room, “You bought us a fucking apartment.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said, his own eyes feeling a little damp.

“I love you,” Ian said, taking Mickey’s face in his hands and kissing him, “And I want this. Shit, I want a life together.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ian answered, leaning down once again to press his lips to Mickey’s. Mickey fell into it, the way Ian’s lips caressed his, how his hands felt warm against his face, then his neck and his back. He reached out, wrapping an arm around Ian’s torso and pulling him in tightly, he wanted to feel Ian everywhere - feel the kiss everywhere.

“When do we move in?” Ian murmured against Mickey’s lips.

Mickey smiled, “Whenever.”

After all, they had all the time in the world.

* * *

Because of Ian’s lease he still had to pay for his apartment for a few more months, both Ian and Mickey considered if it would be better moving later but in the end decided they would rather live together and pay a little extra than to keep living apart. Two days later they were bribing family members to help them move all of their crap, Ian disguising it as a ‘Pre-Housewarming Party’ in order to guilt them all to be there. Debbie and Carl grumbled the whole time, while Fiona and Liam made a game out of it, Lip was much more helpful than Mickey expected (leading him to wonder if he had finally somehow gotten the assholes approval), and Mandy was much less helpful than Mickey expected (spending most of the time wandering behind Ian, chatting and carrying the lightest boxes possible).

It was busy and chaotic, but by the end of it their apartment was piled high with boxes, furniture strewn in between wherever they could fit it. They shelled out for pizza and beer for everyone, all of them hanging out in the kitchen and eating. It was nice, a feeling of family that Mickey hadn’t even known he had been missing, and here he found it all with Ian - his family.

Everyone left as soon as Ian opened the first box, the peel of packing tape off cardboard like a gunshot that sent them all running. Mickey just laughed to himself and shut the door behind them, not interested in trying to drag them all back, he figured this part was probably better suited for him and Ian anyways.

They didn’t get very far unpacking, Ian coming across condoms and lube in one of them boxes and pulling Mickey away from the boxes in favor of their mattress, covered only by a fitted sheet and laid on the floor of the bedroom. Mickey was a little reluctant at first, wanting to get the unpacking done as soon as possible, but the second Ian’s hand was in his pants any thoughts past; _‘oh fuck, holy shit’_ went away.

Afterwards they laid spread out on the mattress, naked and cuddle together, legs and arms entwined. Mickey felt like a sap, like this was the sort of thing love-struck fools did, but then he supposed was a love-struck fool now. And even as Mickey felt like a hopeless sap, he also didn’t mind it, he kind of liked being a sap with Ian. Mickey smiled softly, brushing his fingers over Ian’s cheek and along his jaw, slightly in awe at how beautiful he was - how amazing it was that Mickey would get to wake up with him every morning.

Ian had his eyes closed, smiling at the feeling of Mickey’s fingers tracing over his skin. “I’m happy,” Ian hummed.

Mickey bit down on his lower lip, “Me too.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe this is really my life,” Ian continued, voice soft and sleepy, “I’m so fucking lucky, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Mickey whispered.

Ian leaned forward, touching his forehead to Mickey’s and sighing happily, “I’ve got a confession.” Ian laughed quietly, “I had a crush on you, before we actually met, it wasn’t like a huge crush on anything but I saw you a couple of times and I thought you were kind of cute and funny.”

Mickey snorted, “So this has been your plan all along, huh?”

Ian laughed louder this time and opened his eyes, “Maybe not all along, but for a while now, this and you - it’s what I’ve wanted.”

Mickey took Ian’s hand in his, kissing his knuckles and looking up at Ian through dark lashes. “How long?”

Ian’s mouth twitched as he thought, tilting his head back and forth, humming in consideration before finally saying, “You can’t make fun of me, because this is pretty fucking lame, okay?”

Mickey narrowed his eyes, pressing his lips together, “I don’t know, man, if it’s that fucking lame-”

“Mick!”

Mickey chuckled and clung to Ian a little tighter as the other man shoved at his shoulder. “Alright, Alright, I won’t make fun of you.”

Ian glared at Mickey and finally settled back down to say, “So, you remember that first night we hung out? Drinking at the bar and then I had to walk you home?”

“Not well,” Mickey answered with a loud snort.

Ian rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay, anyways - you remember how you said you wanted to fuck, then puked on my legs, and I took care of you all night?” Mickey nodded, curious as to where Ian was going with this. Ian’s lip quirked up at the corner, a small smile, “I’ve known since then.”

Mickey blinked, taken aback by the confession, “You’ve known about… me?”

Ian nodded shyly, “I’ve pretty much been in love with you since then.”

Mickey furrowed his brow, trying to grasp how or why, but couldn’t figure it out. “That night? Seriously? That’s what did it for you?” Mickey shook his head, “I was so fucking gross.”

Ian laughed loudly, his eyes unfocused as he seemed to be remembering the past. “You were really gross,” Ian admitted, “But I guess you were the right combination of gross and cute and loving - I dunno. It’s embarrassing,” Ian said, looking down as his face became flushed by a brilliant red.

Mickey shook his head, putting a finger under Ian’s jaw to tilt his head up, “That night at the club.” Mickey inhaled deeply and continued, “The one where we had that competition about the guy, and we danced, then went back to your house and kissed. That’s when I knew.”

Ian’s lips morphed into a slow surprised smile, “But that was so long ago, you and Chris had just broken up.”

Mickey shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, I know for a fucking fact that was it for me, it was like one day I was totally normal and then I woke up fucking crazy for your ass. I probably didn’t realize that’s what it was back then, but looking back - yeah, definitely.”

Ian grinned, rolling over to lay on top of Mickey, resting his head on Mickey’s chest. “And to think, I was so nervous to ask you out, but you were already in love with me.”

Mickey smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Ian’s hairline, “Yeah, dumbass, there was no fucking way I would have said no.”

“I didn’t know that,” Ian murmured drowsily, rubbing his hand up and down Mickey’s side soothingly, “I just knew that I loved you and that I couldn’t not be with you anymore.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said, closing his eyes and settling into the warm contentedness, “I know the feeling.”

It was quiet and peaceful, everything Mickey could have ever hoped for in his life. He had a home of his own and Ian in his arms. It wasn’t perfect, they weren’t perfect, but that made it better - made it real. He loved Ian and everything that came with that, and more than that, he knew Ian felt the same. They would fight and struggle to communicate, Mickey knew that they weren’t at the end of that, but he also knew that in the end both of them would do everything to be better, always trying their best and supporting the other.

Ian was Mickey’s family and Mickey was Ian’s. They would make it through anything together, Mickey was sure of it. Laying there in their bed, in their apartment, together - there wasn’t a single doubt in Mickey’s mind.

Ian snuffled and groaned, ending the peaceful silence, “I don’t want to unpack tomorrow.”

“Tough shit, this place is a pigsty,” Mickey said, patting Ian on the back condescendingly.

“Isn’t that how you like to live though?” Ian asked cheekily, Mickey could feel his sly smile against his chest.

Mickey couldn’t help himself from laughing, just slightly, but he shook his head and muttered, “Fucking asshole.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this journey back to 2015 shameless fanfiction with me - feel free to share the 'tells' of the time with me, eg. Mandy being the bff & the use of 'firecrotch' as a term of endearment - classic.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @ [meganwwrites](http://meganwwrites.tumblr.com)


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